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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26066212">A Godless Place</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/oschun/pseuds/oschun'>oschun</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Wolfy Tales [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Brotherly Love, Demon Blood, Gothic Elements, M/M, Protective Dean Winchester, Religious Content, Sam Winchester Has Powers, Sibling Incest, demon wolves</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 12:02:27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>38,288</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26066212</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/oschun/pseuds/oschun</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean have been searching for their father for two years when they find him in a godless place.</p><p>A fourth story in the Wolfy Tales series, an AU storyworld built on canon-compliant events, except Sam is born with his powers. Each story could be read as a standalone.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Kate Milligan/John Winchester, OMC/OMC</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Wolfy Tales [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1445458</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>54</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Arrival</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>This is not a good place. </p><p>It's Sam's first thought as he and Dean ride into the village. It's a place that just <em>feels</em> wrong.</p><p>It’s too quiet. The few people who are out and about move furtively with their hoods pulled low over their faces, looking like they're afraid of something. Sam glances over at Dean. His eyes are wary and watchful, his hands tight on the reins of his horse. The horses are nervous and restive, like they can sense something in the air.</p><p>Yesterday, as they made their way down from the mountains into the valley, the sun was shining with bright clarity and all of nature felt fresh and alive, but here the thick forest surrounds the village in a dark embrace and the sky hangs heavy and sullen above it. The houses are built from black, stained wood. They crouch squat and low to the ground, the windows looking out like sightless eyes, the roofs heavy and beetle-browed, giving them a scowling appearance.</p><p>The muddy track through the village eventually opens into a cobbled square. There are a market tables scattered about, but they’re empty of produce, no fresh fruit or vegetables to tempt passers-by and no familiar activity to suggest a functioning community.</p><p>Sam shivers when he sees the gallows. It looms large and solid in the center of the square. The rope that hangs from the central beam swings slightly, even though there isn’t a breath of wind. A crow perched on the beam cocks its head and gives them a beady-eyed glance before flapping away with a throaty caw that splinters the quiet and makes Sam startle. </p><p>There’s nothing to suggest the presence of an inn or a tavern. Dean looks at Sam and nods his head in the direction of a dingy-looking church in the north corner of the square. Its whitewashed walls have yellowed with age and the thatched roof is covered with dark clumps of decaying moss. The black cross above the vestibule points starkly up towards the grey sky.</p><p>“The priest can tell us if there’s someplace we could spend the night and get a hot meal,” Dean says, his voice barely above a whisper. </p><p>A part of Sam wants to say, ‘We should leave right now. This is an evil place.’ But he doesn’t say it because he knows there’s no turning back. This is where his nightmares have been leading them.</p><p>They tie the horses to a gnarled tree and push open the heavy black doors of the church. It’s cold and musty and silent inside. “Hello,” Dean calls out. “Anybody here?”</p><p>It takes a couple of minutes before the vestry door opens and a priest in a black cassock comes out. He’s tall and thin. His face is pale and is dominated by deeply-set dark eyes. “Can I help you?”</p><p>“Hello, father. We’re looking for a hot meal and somewhere to spend the night. Is there an inn in the village?”</p><p>“If you leave now, you might make it to the next market town before nightfall. It’s ten miles from here to the south. There’s a tavern there,” the priest says and abruptly turns to go back into the vestry.</p><p>Dean raises his eyebrows at Sam, then says to the priest, “We’ve been riding all day and our horses are tired. Is there no boarding house or somebody who will take in lodgers?”</p><p>The priest turns and looks them over, his gaze dispassionate and without curiosity. “We don’t get travellers here. It’s best if you move on.”</p><p>Everything in Sam’s body is urging him to get out of here as fast as he can, but he knows this is where they are meant to be. This place has been calling to him. There’s a buzz just under the surface of his skin, his power alert and alive, responding to some dark energy that permeates through the village and the surrounding forest. He could feel it from miles away, a whirlpool pulling him towards it.</p><p>“We’re spending the night, father,” he says firmly. “Even if we have to sleep on a pew in here or under the gallows outside.”</p><p>The priest gives them a long look and reads the determination on their faces. His jaw tightens. “If you insist, then you can spend the night in my home. It’s small but you can have a bed in the loft. There’s nobody else who will take you in.”</p><p>“Thank you, father. We appreciate your generosity,” Dean says dryly.</p><p>The priest doesn’t reply. They follow him through the dusty rectory, out a back door and then through a dark and clammy courtyard that leads to a small cottage. </p><p>Inside, the cottage is dark and dreary, the ceiling low and the stone floors bare and cold. There’s a middle-aged woman bending over a wood cook stove, stirring something in a pot that smells meaty and greasy. She looks at them without interest, her eyes moist and cow-like in the pallor of her face. She nods when the priest asks her to make up a bed for them, then disappears silently.</p><p>“Sit down,” the priest says tersely and gestures towards the chairs around the kitchen table. “Mrs. Abbot will show you the room when she’s done. I’ll ask someone to bring your horses around to the paddock in the back. There’s coffee in the pot on the stove. Excuse me,” he says and leaves the room.</p><p>“Friendly people,” Dean says facetiously and dumps his leather bag under the kitchen table. </p><p>Sam murmurs in agreement and goes over to the cook stove, takes down two chipped mugs from a shelf on the wall and pours the coffee. It’s very strong and the surface is oily. He passes a mug to Dean and sits down next to him.</p><p>“This place is giving me the creeps.”</p><p>“It’s a place of despair,” Sam replies without thinking, then wishes he hadn’t when he sees Dean’s irritated expression.</p><p>“Thanks, Sam, like I wasn’t feeling creeped out enough as it is. You sure we’re in the right place?”</p><p>Sam nods. “Dad’s here, Dean. I can feel it.”</p><p>A cat jumps up onto the end of the table. It’s missing an eye and the scar tissue around the empty socket is pink and crusty. It stares at them malevolently, tail swishing from side to side. Dean shoos it off the table and it hisses at him before stalking over and making itself comfortable in front of the stove, one watchful eye remaining on them.</p><p>The woman comes back into the kitchen. “Room’s made up,” she says in a sour voice. They get up and follow her up the narrow stairs into a large loft. There’s a lumpy looking mattress on the floor, a small bedside table, and a rocking chair in the corner. A dormer window lets in the murky light. </p><p>“Thank you,” Sam says politely.</p><p>The woman gives him an unfriendly look. “If you mind sharing, one of you will have to sleep on the floor. It’s all there is. Take it or leave it. I don’t suppose you’ll be staying long anyway." She turns to leave the room. "I’ll be back in the morning to make the breakfast.”</p><p>“Old witch,” Dean says loudly enough for her to hear as she clumps heavily down the stairs.</p><p>Sam sits in the rocking chair, listening to it creak on the wooden floorboards as he rocks backwards and forwards. Dean dumps his bag on the bed and goes over to look out the window. He startles back suddenly when a crow flies against the window, its beak clattering loudly against the glass like it was trying to peck at his face.</p><p>“Fuck! Even the birds in this place are evil.”</p><p>Sam goes over to him and looks out at the empty marketplace below. The crow has perched on the gallows beam and is watching them. It makes a cackling noise in a parody of dark glee.</p><p>“You wouldn’t be laughing if I had my slingshot, you little bastard.”</p><p>Sam smiles at his vehemence. “It’s just a crow, Dean.”</p><p>Dean makes a huffing sound of irritation. “The sooner we can get out of here, the better. If dad’s here or he’s been through here, the priest will know something. He doesn’t strike me as the talkative type but maybe you can read him, see what he knows.”</p><p>Sam nods. “Something weighs heavily on him. He’s deeply unhappy.”</p><p>“Wouldn’t you be if you lived in a place like this.”</p><p>They hear the priest moving around downstairs and go down to join him. He’s stirring the meaty-smelling stew. “Your horses have been fed and watered. Are you hungry?” he asks, gesturing for them to sit down.</p><p>They sit opposite each other at the table and Sam says, “We appreciate your hospitality, father. We’ve been on the road for many days. My name’s Sam and this is my brother Dean.” The priest nods but doesn’t tell them his name. He takes some bowls off the shelf and serves the stew, then joins them at the table. Dean shoves his spoon into his bowl, but Sam gives him a warning glance. “Sorry, father, forgive my brother. We haven’t eaten since this morning. Do you want to pray before we eat?”</p><p>The priest rests his elbows on the table and gives Sam a considering look. He’s younger than he first appeared. Despite the grey at his temples, his pale skin is mostly smooth and unlined. He has one of the saddest faces Sam has ever seen. “Why?” the priest asks him, making Sam blink in surprise.</p><p>Dean huffs a short laugh. “Isn’t that what priests do? Bless this food and the happy hands that made it, and all that.”</p><p>The priest gives Dean a wry smile. “I wouldn’t say that Mrs. Abbott has happy hands.”</p><p>Dean snorts in agreement. “Mrs. Abbott doesn’t look like she’s had a happy day in her entire life.”</p><p>Sam can read the feelings coming off the priest. “What made you lose your faith,” he asks quietly.</p><p>The priest’s eyes widen but he doesn’t dispute Sam’s statement. He takes a mouthful of the stew and chews slowly, then takes a sip from the glass of water at his elbow. “It’s hard for a man to maintain his faith in a godless place.”</p><p>“Not if he’s strong enough.”</p><p>Sam sighs at Dean’s rudeness. He’s so intolerant of anything he views as weakness. To counter Dean’s remark, he asks gently, "Why don’t you just leave? Find someplace else where you could be happier?”</p><p>The priest’s lips twist into a bitter smile. “Your brother’s right. I am weak. My faith isn’t strong enough to withstand all that I am surrounded by, and I’m also too weak to leave.”</p><p>Dean says, “A man has choices, padre. Even men like you who always do what they’re told and follow the rules with such devotion.”</p><p>Sam shoots him a sharp, quelling glance and shakes his head. Dean gives him a little smirk in response and mops up the stew in his bowl with a crust of bread. The priest’s eyes are dark pools in his pale face. “Where would I go? This is my home.”</p><p>“It’s a big wide world out there.”</p><p>Sam knows Dean thinks that’s true. He believes anybody can change their circumstances through strength of will alone. It prevents him from understanding how there are fewer choices for some people. He can’t grasp how they can be hampered by burdens of their own making or other people’s choices, or just by fate. Dean thinks he’s totally free. Sam, of course, knows that’s not true, but it’s one of the things he loves most about Dean: his belief that he is free to make his own way in the world.</p><p>“I’m sorry, father. My brother has strong opinions.”</p><p>The priest glances between them, his gaze coming to rest speculatively on Sam. “Do you always feel like you need to apologize for your brother?”</p><p>Sam colors a little and Dean laughs. “Yeah, Sammy, why do you think you need to apologize for me all the time?”</p><p>Sam says dryly under his breath, “Somebody has to,” before he continues eating.</p><p>Dean sits back in his chair. “I didn’t mean any disrespect, father, especially under your own roof. I’m sure the people of this village need you. I’m not a believer, but I respect the work people like you do for their communities.”</p><p>The priest’s lips thin and he grips his spoon tighter. He lets out a quiet breath. “Call me Luke, please.”</p><p>Dean toys casually with his spoon. “So I guess you don’t get a lot of people travelling through here, Luke?”</p><p>“No, we don’t. The village is off the main route between the two larger market towns. It takes intent to find us.” He doesn’t say any more, but his meaning is obvious. He knows they have a reason for being here. And it’s clear he’s not going to ask them outright because he’s not interested and is hoping to get rid of them as soon as possible.</p><p>“Any other strangers get lost and find their way into the village the last few days?”</p><p>The priest gives Dean a cool look. “Like I said, we don’t get any travellers coming through here.” He gets up and starts clearing the table.</p><p>He’s lying, of course. You don’t need to be able to read minds to know that. Dean gives Sam a glance across the table. Sam shrugs his shoulders. He can sense people’s feelings, but he can’t directly read their thoughts unless they’re in a state of emotional distress, or he’s physically touching them and they’re open and responsive. Sometimes he can sneak his way in when they’re distracted, but the priest is wary and suspicious, all his barriers up.</p><p>The priest goes over to a sink in the corner of the kitchen and starts washing the dishes. Sam gets up to help him and they wash and dry in silence. Dean leaves the room and comes back a couple of minutes later with his journal. He moves a chair closer to the stove and tries to gently move the cat out of the way with his foot. It snarls at him viciously, all the hair on its back raising up.</p><p>“Outside, Satan!” The priest opens the back door to let the cat out. It gives them a malevolent look over its shoulder before slinking out into the darkness that has fallen suddenly over the village.</p><p>Dean laughs. “Your cat is called Satan?”</p><p>“It suits his temperament,” the priest says dryly. He takes three glasses off the shelf and puts them on the table, then gets a bottle of amber-coloured liquor from a cupboard. He pours three stiff shots and gives one to Dean and the other to Sam.</p><p>“Do you play chess, Sam?”</p><p>Sam nods and sits down at the table. The priest gets the board and sets out the pieces. Sam takes a sip of his drink and coughs a little. “It’s an acquired taste,” the priest says with a smile and makes his opening move.</p><p>He plays a steady, cautious game. Sam could beat him easily, but he allows the game to draw out, hoping to do the same to the man he’s playing. “Were you born here, father?”</p><p>“Call me Luke. I insist.” The priest swallows the alcohol in his glass. “This was my first posting. I came here when I was nineteen.”</p><p>Sam places his hand over his glass when Luke tries to pour him another drink. “The square seemed pretty quiet for a market day.”</p><p>“This used to be a thriving community. Things changed.”</p><p>Sam considers which question to ask next. The Why is more important than the When, but he doesn’t want to push it too hard or too quickly. “How long have you lived here?” he asks, knowing that even the most reticent people often still want to talk about themselves.</p><p>“Twenty years. Yes, I know, I look good for my age,” Luke adds with a self-deprecating laugh.</p><p>“What was it like before?” Sam asks as he watches Luke pour himself another drink. He’s clearly a practiced drinker.</p><p>Luke smiles. “Ordinary.”</p><p>Sam nods and doesn’t say anything. He concentrates on the board and makes a couple of quick moves to get the priest engrossed in the game. Dean comes over and tops up his glass. He gives Sam a knowing smile and goes back to his seat by the stove, stretching his legs out lazily in the warmth.</p><p>As he waits for the priest to think his way out of a check on his king, Sam watches Dean writing in the journal. It’s something he started doing about a year ago. He tells him it’s a factual record of everything they’ve ever hunted, but Sam thinks he’s probably writing it like some kind of chivalric romance. Dean likes to think of himself as a heroic crusader on the road: hunting things, saving people, their family business.</p><p>Sam ignores another move that would put the priest in checkmate and keeps things open enough to engage his attention. Luke’s cheeks have grown warm from the alcohol and his eyes are a little glassy as he tries to concentrate. Sam asks him carefully, “So what happened to change things in the village?”</p><p>“Corruption set in and things started to rot from the inside.”</p><p>Sam waits patiently.</p><p>“Let’s just say certain people in positions of power don’t have the best interests of the village at heart,” Luke adds cynically.</p><p>“There are good people everywhere, even in bad places. People who are willing to stand up for what’s right.”</p><p>Luke snorts a harsh, skeptical laugh. He looks at Sam with a bitter smile. “In my observation of human nature over the years I have come to the conclusion that there are two types of people. You are either a wolf or a sheep. Or sometimes a wolf comes in sheep’s clothing. Which one are you, Sam?” he asks, giving Sam a hard, clear-eyed look.</p><p>In his peripheral vision, Sam sees Dean lower the journal to focus his full attention on them. “Sheep need a shepherd,” Sam says quietly. “I can tell you’re a good man, father. Your flock need you to be strong for them.”   </p><p>Luke’s expression twists. “You’re obviously perceptive, Sam, but you’re also naïve. What I am is worn down, and I’m also drunk.” He gets to his feet unsteadily. “I’m going to bed. You’re a very good chess player and you’re just humoring me.” He clears away the chessboard and rinses the glasses in the sink. Dean gives Sam another one of those arched eyebrow looks and Sam shrugs again in response.</p><p>In the doorway Luke turns to look at them, his hand tight on the doorknob. “Don’t go outside tonight.”</p><p>“Why not?” Sam asks him directly. </p><p>“It’s isolated here and the forest is very close. Sometimes wild animals come through the village at night. We don’t go out after dark. If you get into trouble out there, nobody will come to your aid. Good night.”</p><p>“That’s comforting,” Dean says after he closes the door on them. “What do you think? A quick night patrol of the village?”</p><p>Sam shakes his head. “We need to check things out in the daylight and talk to some of the villagers so we can figure out what we’re dealing with first.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Dean agrees and rubs his eyes. “I’m exhausted anyway. We’ve done so much riding the last two weeks, I think my legs are permanently stuck this way.”</p><p>Sam grins as he watches him flexing his knees. “Dean, You’d have those bowlegs if you’d never been on a horse in your life before. Thankfully, it's a family inheritance that I missed out on</p><p>With an exaggerated leer, Dean replies, “Well, I know why I was walking this way a couple of days ago, Sammy. You sure gave it to me good that night.”</p><p>Sam rolls his eyes and snorts quietly. “You're incorrigible.”</p><p>“I don’t know what that means, but I’m sure you’re right. Anyway, you can keep your straight legs because I got mom’s good looks, whereas you just got Dad’s surly expressions.”</p><p>Sam laughs again, but he doesn’t disagree. Dean’s features have roughened and hardened over the past two years since they’ve been on the road but he still has the kind of good looks that make women throw themselves at him. In the early days when they first left home, Dean took some of them up on what they were offering. It used to hurt when Dean came back to him smelling like sex and like somebody else, but Sam knew he just had to let Dean work it out on his own, and it doesn't happen anymore.</p><p>They go upstairs and get ready for bed. Dean places his revolver on the floor on one side of the mattress and Sam’s knife on the other side, part of his nightly routine. He strips off his clothes and dumps them on the leather bag, then stands on the mattress to look out the dormer window. Sam salts the door, undresses and places his clothes in a neat pile on the bedside table. He pauses at the end of the mattress and looks at Dean’s naked body in the candlelight, his eyes wandering over the scars on his back and the one that cuts across his thigh. So many close calls.</p><p>Dean turns his head slightly. “Like what you see?” He flexes so the muscles in his back and ass tighten.</p><p>“I was looking at your scars,” Sam replies before crawling across the mattress and kneeling behind Dean. Leaning forward, he softly kisses along the jagged, scarred ridge that twists from Dean's hip around the back of his upper thigh, shuddering slightly as he remembers the expression of disgust and cold intent on the face of the man who cut Dean. He was trying to make good on his threat to cut off Dean's cock after he caught the two of them naked together. It was their own fault. They hadn't been careful enough - too desperate with desire; too unmindful of the consequences of getting caught. It's taken a lot of hard lessons but they've learned that people can pose a greater threat to them than the monsters they hunt. </p><p>Sam left the man with a memento of his own when he cut off his hand at the wrist. It's not something he feels any guilt or remorse over. Those feelings no longer have any place in his heart. He was just lucky he didn't get his neck snapped. There’s nothing Sam won’t do to keep Dean safe. Not from the monsters, nor from people.  </p><p>Dean turns around and ruffles his hair affectionately. “While you’re down there, Sammy,” he says, pulling Sam's face into his crotch. </p><p>Sam huffs a laugh and nuzzles into the familiar smell of Dean's pubic hair. Dropping a quick kiss on his hipbone, he grips Dean's wrist and pulls him down onto the mattress with him. “We’re in the home of a priest,” he says, trying for a tone of quiet reproval as he wraps the blanket around them.</p><p>“So? At least somebody will be getting off in this house for once. Do you think he ever jerks off?” Dean whispers in a curious voice.</p><p>“Dean,” Sam says in exasperation and turns on his side away from him.</p><p> Dean pulls Sam into the curve of his body. “God wouldn’t have made it feel so good if he didn’t want us to do it.” He kisses the side of Sam's neck up to his earlobe, sucks it into his mouth, his hot breath ghosting along Sam’s cheek. His teeth are sharp when he bites into the flesh. </p><p>Sam starts to harden. Sometimes he thinks they want this too much and too often. He wonders if that’s normal, if it’s how other people experience sexual desire. He shifts closer and feels Dean’s dick slide between his thighs. Arousal, instant and irresistible, sparks through his body. Dean sucks his earlobe, then sticks his tongue in his ear as his hand wanders down Sam’s chest and stomach. He moves lower to his groin and wraps a hand around his dick, squeezes lightly, then does it again and again, a succession of gentle pulses until Sam’s totally hard.</p><p>They’re starting to sweat everywhere their bodies are touching. Dean leans away from him and Sam hears him rummage in the bag, then Dean’s slick fingers are at his entrance. Sam sighs softly. Giving in to desire, he rolls forward slightly and bends his knee, letting Dean in, drawing in a sharp, quick breath when Dean pushes deeper and curves his fingers. The ache starts building in his groin and he forgets about everything else but Dean's intimate exploration of his body, losing himself in the feeling of Dean's thick fingers moving inside him, the roughness of his callouses. He knows exactly how to touch Sam, how to make him ache like this.</p><p>He feels empty when it stops, then hears the slippery sounds of Dean slicking himself up and feels the firm grip on his hip as Dean holds him steady before sliding into him in one long, slow, smooth push. A breath is punched out of his lungs. It always feels like this – this feeling of rightness, of being filled, of the two of them fitting together perfectly.</p><p>He’s half-lying on his stomach with his knee bent and Dean is plastered against his back, his arms wrapped tightly around his chest, starting to move his hips faster. Sam shifts his weight and rolls over slowly so he’s lying flat on his stomach, taking Dean with him. Dean adjusts the angle of his hips and his thrusts get slower and deeper. Sam can sense the intensity of Dean’s feelings. His desire and love, and something harder underneath that, a kind of hunger, like he wants to consume Sam or be consumed by him. It’s overwhelming for a second.</p><p>Dean's voice, rough with amusement and arousal, cuts through the fog of intense feeling consuming Sam's thoughts. “If you don’t want to give that poor priest a heart attack, you need to quiet down.”</p><p>Sam hadn’t even realized he was making those punched-out little moans. Licking his dry lips, he grits his teeth to stay quiet and arches slightly, tightening his body. Dean groans, snaps his hips twice and comes with a low moan. He collapses on top of Sam and sucks messily at the side of his neck. Sam can feel the thundering of Dean's heart through his back.</p><p>Dean rolls off and pulls at his arm. “C’mon. I want you to come inside me.”</p><p>Sam lifts his head and looks at Dean’s flushed face. “Don’t you need a second?”</p><p>“Fuck no,” he answers gruffly and pulls Sam on top of him.</p><p>Sam reaches out and fumbles for the bottle of oil. It’s tipped over on its side and there’s a puddle on the bare floorboards. There’s enough left. He sits up between Dean’s thighs, slicks up and pushes Dean’s knees wider apart. Leaning forward, he slowly feeds himself into Dean’s body, making him groan loudly and clench the mattress with white-knuckled fingers.</p><p>“Sshhh,” he says with a low laugh. “The priest, remember.”</p><p>“God, I don’t care,” Dean replies and arches his back. “C’mon. More.”</p><p>He wraps Dean’s legs around his hips and starts thrusting into him, keeping it deep and slow and steady. Dean’s mouth is open and he’s making these little sounds that seem to come involuntarily from way down in his chest. His eyes close and his skin flushes red all the way up his torso, into his throat and along his cheekbones.</p><p>Everything builds in intensity but Sam holds it back and rides the wave, wanting to stay forever in this moment. His power blooms inside him, the way it always does when he feels adrift in feeling. It curls through him with languid heat. Sam can feel his power stretching itself outward and wrapping around them, enfolding them in pulsing light and heat. Closing his eyes, he loses himself in Dean. He's so open and solid and present, there with Sam in this transcendent space.</p><p>But then the boundaries between them begin to blur and Sam can’t tell anymore where one of them begins and the other ends. Everything starts losing its edges. There’s only a feeling of moving further and further outwards, reaching towards some other horizon. He wants Dean with him but he can feel him slipping from his grasp and the cocoon of his power.</p><p>The sound of Dean’s voice returns him to himself. “Come back, Sam. C’mon, man.”</p><p>Sam blinks at him and stills the movement of his hips. He becomes aware of how tightly Dean’s hands are clenching his biceps. There’s a tension around Dean's eyes and his cheeks are stained red like when he has a fever. There's come all over his stomach. “You were heading out in the direction of the crazy place,” he says with a low laugh. “And there are only so many dry orgasms I can have, man.” </p><p>Sam shakes his head to clear it. “Sorry. I’m sorry,” he says and tries to pull out.</p><p>Dean wraps his legs tighter around him. “No, come first. I want to feel it. Come inside me,” he says in a commanding voice as he tightens his ass muscles. Sam has no resistance to either that voice or tight grip. He comes suddenly, a long white flare of intense pleasure, then collapses on top of Dean and falls into a feeling of warm lassitude.</p><p>Dean strokes his back. “Don't fall asleep on me.”</p><p>Exhausted, he rolls off Dean and sinks into the mattress with his head buried in a pillow. Turning his face toward Dean, he mumbles, “Sorry, I didn’t realize how much I was disappearing into it.”</p><p>“If you say sorry again, I’m going to hit you,” Dean growls. He presses a soft kiss to Sam’s sweaty forehead, then licks him, nuzzling and tasting him like an overly protective maternal animal. Stroking Sam's cheek, he says, “I told you before, it doesn’t scare me,” before lifting his head and looking around the room. “At least you didn’t set anything alight or destroy any furniture this time.” </p><p>It's happened a few times now. He gets lost in the intensity of physical pleasure, his power transporting him into a no-man's land where Dean cannot follow, and when he comes back to himself, something is broken or burning in the near vicinity, as if his body cannot contain his gift when he's feeling so overwhelmed.</p><p>“I’m getting better at not letting the power leak out of me. It feels more stable, like…” He’s so tired, can hardly speak and his eyelids have grown too heavy to keep them open. He starts drifting off and is vaguely aware of Dean getting up and doing something before he gets back into bed and wraps the blanket around them, holding him close.</p><p>Sam falls asleep and has the same dream he’s been having for weeks. He’s underground and its cold and dark and clammy. His dad is somewhere near him. He can hear his Dad's voice, but he can’t find him. Part of him is in the dream, but another part of him is aware of something in the room where he’s lying in bed with Dean. It’s a sound. He rises up through subterranean layers of consciousness and has a strange moment of dissonance as he listens to his father whispering something in his ear and another sound in the corner of the room.</p><p>His eyes flick open suddenly as he recognizes it. The rocking chair is moving backwards and forwards, the floorboards creaking under an invisible weight. His eyes dart to the undisturbed salt line at the door and he twists his head to see another line of salt protecting the window. Dean must have done it before he went to sleep. His heart is beating hard in his chest. The chair starts moving faster, inching forward a little.</p><p>“What is it?” Dean hisses suddenly in his ear.</p><p>“Something in the room,” Sam whispers back.</p><p>Dean reaches out, then swings his arm over Sam’s shoulder to level his gun at the chair. It stops moving. They watch it warily, barely breathing. It remains still and they get out of bed slowly, moving very cautiously. Sam takes a handful of rock salt from the bag on the floor and throws it at the chair. The salt clatters off the arms and back, the wall behind the chair and the floor. There’s nothing there, no invisible shape brought into reality by the purifying power of the salt.  </p><p>He moves closer.</p><p>“Sam!”</p><p>Ignoring Dean’s warning, he places his hand on the seat of the rocking chair. It’s warm. Closing his eyes, he puts his hand out and feels for the shape of the presence that had been there moments before. There’s something, a leftover signature of some kind, but it’s gone now.</p><p>They turn suddenly to the window, both alerted by a sound outside. There’s a lopsided, waxing moon in the window looking at them. Dark clouds scud across it. Dean goes over and looks outside, turns and shrugs his shoulders. Sam checks the salt lines carefully and all the corners of the room, then moves the rocking chair around to face the wall. “Whatever it was, it’s gone now.”</p><p>“Wasn’t a ghost,” Dean says. “The salt would’ve kept it out.”</p><p>“Maybe it followed me up from my dreams.”</p><p>Dean raises his eyebrows. “Seriously, that’s a thing? Then can you at least try to dream about nice things like flowers and butterflies.”</p><p>Sam smiles wryly. He can’t remember the last time he had a happy dream. His dreams are full of darkness. In his waking life, he has better control over his gift, but in the dreamworld it has its own impetus and agency, taking him to places he doesn’t want to go. He tries to smirk as he says, “Dean, you’d shit yourself if you woke up in a salted and locked room that was suddenly full of flowers and butterflies.”</p><p>Dean gives him a sharp look, then shrugs. “Fair enough.”</p><p>“We need to get more sleep. I’ll take the first watch.”</p><p>“Yeah, okay,” Dean agrees.</p><p>They go back to bed and Dean starts snoring lightly as soon as his head hits the pillow. His ability to fall asleep so quickly anywhere is remarkable. Sam sits on the mattress next to him with his back against the wall, his knife and the bag of salt within reach. He’s mastered the skill of keeping watch and can do it for hours at a time. Dean finds it hard. He gets sleepy or bored and agitated, needs to move constantly and is plagued by phantom itches.</p><p>Sam looks around the room. It feels protected and secure. Whatever got in before isn’t here anymore. He closes his eyes and sends his mind out into the village. It’s still and quiet, everyone asleep and dreaming. Their dreams are dark and restless. Sam can sense fear and violence in the air, like something he can smell. He tries to send his mind farther out into the woods, does it too quickly and tastes blood at the back of his throat. He reins his power back in, then sends it out again more slowly.</p><p>There’s something out there in the darkness of the forest. He can feel it moving, watching, but he can’t get a lock on it. Then he feels something curling up his spine, something like the long tendril of a vine or like a snake coiling up the back of his neck and trying to find a way inside him. He shudders and tries to pull his power back in, but it’s like he’s sent himself out too far. He’s created a link with whatever’s out there and it’s using his power like a bridge to get inside him. He can feel how cold and stiff his body has become, like he’s freezing from the outside in.</p><p>He knows that concentrating on what this thing is doing to him is just feeding it with his own power and allowing it control over him. He averts his mind from it and builds a fire inside himself. It starts as a coal in his belly. He fans it until it sparks into life and starts to burn. The flames get bigger and bigger until his whole body is filled with fire.</p><p>The link is cut suddenly as the thing in the forest quickly retracts its scorched tendrils. Sam’s power springs back inside him and he comes out of it with a loud gasp.</p><p>“You okay?” Dean’s looking up at him, his eyes bleary and hair sleep tousled. “Were you having a nightmare? Thought you were supposed to be watching over me like a guardian angel, not sleeping on the job.”</p><p>“No, it wasn’t a nightmare.” Sam runs a shaky hand through his hair. “More like a vision. There’s something in the forest corrupting the village. I think Dad came here to hunt it.”</p><p>Dean props himself up on his elbow. His expression is serious. “Okay, we'll deal with the thing in the forest, but can we talk about something else first. Sam, are you sure he’s here? Are you even sure he’s actually still alive? Maybe what you’re seeing in your dreams are flashbacks.”</p><p>Sam looks at him in disbelief. Things start clicking into place, little things that Dean's been saying lately. “Is that what you’ve been thinking this whole time? That we’ve been chasing a ghost?”</p><p>Dean sighs. “Look, I know it gives you—gives <em>us </em>purpose thinking that we’re going to find him alive. But honestly, sometimes I’m not that sure. This is a dangerous life. Hell, it’s not like you don’t know that. And we’ve got advantages other hunters don’t have. We’ve got each other’s backs, for one thing. And you can set shit alight with your mind, Sam. Not everybody has that on their side. Dad’s been out here alone chasing a powerful demon for years. And you know he would do anything to try and kill Azazel. He’d sacrifice himself in a heartbeat. We stay alive for each other. Dad has no reason to stay alive except to exact revenge. You think we count? We don’t. He left us because the only thing that matters to him is killing the monster that killed mom.”</p><p>Dean rolls on to his back and stares at the ceiling, his jaw tight. Sam places his hand on his chest and leans over him. “Do you trust me?” he asks quietly.</p><p>Dean looks at him. “You fucking know I do. I would follow you into hell, Sam.”</p><p>“Then trust me on this. Dad is alive. He’s here. He’s trapped somewhere and we are going to save him. And then we’re going to kill whatever is out there in the forest ruining the lives of these people.”     </p><p>A grin spreads across Dean’s face. He pulls Sam down onto his chest, his heartbeat steady in Sam’s ear. Kissing the top of his head, he says, “God, I love your idealism,” and wraps his arms tight around him. “Why are you so cold?”</p><p>Sam feels Dean’s warmth seeping into his skin. Dean scritches his fingernails through the hair at the base of his skull. It’s comforting and makes the lingering coldness there disappear. Sam’s eyelids grow heavy. “Go to sleep,” Dean says. “We’ve got a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”    </p><p> </p><p>“Where’s Father Luke,” Dean asks Mrs. Abbott as she serves them breakfast in the morning.</p><p>“Out,” she says abruptly, sliding fried eggs from a sizzling pan onto their plates, then spoons mounds of reheated stew from the night before on top of the eggs.</p><p>“Out where?”</p><p>She shrugs. “Taking food to the widows and orphans. Something like that. I just cook and clean. None of my business what he does all day.”</p><p>“He’s a good man,” Sam says, trying to open a line of conversation. “He tries to do his best for the village.”</p><p>Mrs. Abbott snorts a laugh. “In my book, a weak man is just a weak man. Goodness doesn’t have nothing to do with it. Religion neither.”</p><p>“I’m sure he appreciates your loyalty,” Dean says dryly and starts forking eggs and meat into his mouth.</p><p>She shrugs, takes a broom from the corner of the kitchen and goes out the back door. </p><p>When they finish eating, Dean says, “I’m going to check on the horses.”</p><p>Sam nods. “I’ll check the square. See what’s happening out there.” He washes the dishes, then goes through the clammy courtyard into the vestry, through the silent and dusty church, then into the vestibule. From the shadowy recesses of the alcove he can see out onto the square without being observed.</p><p>The square is empty, apart from two rough and thuggish looking youths sitting on the edge of the wooden platform of the gallows. They’re throwing stones at a broken earthen jar a few feet away from them on a market table, making hooting sounds of victory when they shatter chunks off it. A crow lands on the beam above them and they start aiming their stones at it until it flies off with raucous indignation.</p><p>“What’s going on?” Dean asks as he comes into the vestibule and leans against the wall opposite Sam. He smells like hay and the horses. Combined with the familiar smell of Dean’s body, it’s a fragrance that makes Sam think of home.</p><p>“Nothing. Some local thugs, that’s all.”</p><p>They watch the youths go back to stoning the jar. Eventually a pair of figures come through a narrow passageway between the houses on the opposite side of the square. They’re wearing heavy woollen cloaks, walking quickly, their heads down and hoods pulled low over their faces. From their shape and gait, they appear to be a woman and child. The woman has a wicker basket in one hand, the other is on the child’s shoulder, keeping it close to her side. She looks up and Sam catches a glimpse of a pale face and a glint of blonde hair the colour of sunshine. She gives the youths a nervous look and steers the child along a side wall as far away from them as she can.</p><p>Sam sucks in a surprised breath when one of the youths picks up a stone and throws it directly at them. “What the hell,” Dean exclaims and pushes off the vestibule wall. The stone misses the woman and child by an inch, glancing off the wall and shattering the mud stucco. Hurrying more quickly across the square, she drags the child with her by the arm.</p><p>The next stone hits the child on the back, making it cry out in startled pain.</p><p>Dean’s out on the square only a moment before Sam. “Want to try picking on somebody your own size,” he snarls.</p><p>The youths give him a belligerent look. One of them starts throwing a stone up and down in his hand, a calculating look on his face as he sizes Dean up. Sam sees the woman pull the child with her down another side passageway. He moves over to stand next to Dean, looking coldly at the boy with the stone in his hand. “Don’t even think about it,” he says quietly.</p><p>The youth sneers at him, showing his small, stained, rat-like teeth. His face is brown with dirt and his clothes are rough and ragged. “Or you’ll do what?” he asks with his eyebrows arched.</p><p>“Throw that stone at my brother and I’ll break every bone in your hand. There are twenty-seven bones in the human hand. It’ll hurt a lot,” Sam replies coolly.</p><p>Dean snorts in amusement and the boy laughs nervously, turning to his friend for support. “You got no right to threaten us,” the other boy says, widening his stance and trying to look intimidating. One half of his face droops as if there’s an invisible weight pulling at his skin. The corner of his mouth and his lower eyelid hang loosely, like he’s lost all feeling on that side of his face. “Who the hell are you anyway?” he asks in a heavy, lisping voice.</p><p>“We’re the grown men who are going to beat the hell out of you if you don’t learn some respect for women and children,” Dean says. “What do you think you’re doing? You can’t go around hurting people like that. Did your mother never teach you any manners?”</p><p>“His mother’s a whore. She didn’t teach him nothing except how to suck cock,” the youth with the rat-teeth says. Despite the insulting nature of the comment, the boy with the droopy face joins him in sniggering with great amusement.</p><p>Dean is easily offended by derogatory comments about mothers, but as he steps forward aggressively, a rider on a large black stallion suddenly comes galloping into the square. The horse rears up in front of them and all four of them have to step back from its sharp hooves. “What’s going on here?” the rider asks. He has dark eyes and a hard, cruel face. There’s a riding crop clenched in his hand and it looks like he wants to use it on somebody.</p><p>“Nothing, sir,” the youth with the droopy face says. “We weren’t doing nothing when these two started giving us a hard time for no reason.”</p><p>The rider gives Sam and Dean a dark look, then taps the youth hard on the head with the crop. “Get back to work, you lazy young idlers. Now. That potato crop isn’t going to bring itself in.” The youths scuttle off, clearly intimidated by his authority. He turns his gaze on Sam and Dean, looking down his long, straight nose at them. “And who exactly are the two of you?”</p><p>“Who’s asking,” Dean replies in a challenging voice.</p><p>The rider flicks his crop in a casual gesture, dangerously close to Dean’s face. “My family name is Emerson. We own the land around the village.”</p><p>Dean pulls a fake-impressed expression. “Maybe you should teach your workers better manners, Emerson. They were throwing stones at people.”</p><p>The man called Emerson raises one black eyebrow. “Watch your tone. We don’t like strangers telling us how to mind our business.”</p><p>Sam knows Dean’s about to say something that will inflame the situation. He hates authority figures at the best of times. He puts his hand on Dean’s arm. “My brother doesn’t mean any disrespect, Mr. Emerson.”</p><p>“Quit apologizing for me, Sam,” Dean grits out between clenched teeth.</p><p>The priest suddenly comes striding across the square. He joins them and says breathlessly, "Richard, I see you’ve met Sam and Dean.” Putting out his hand, he smooths the stallion’s muzzle. It’s shifting around nervously but settles under his calming hand. “They’re staying with me for a couple of days. They’re my—they’re my nephews from back home. My older sister’s boys. Just travelling through.”</p><p>“I didn’t even know you had any family, Luke. I thought you were immaculately conceived in the church and squeezed out between the wooden thighs of your Mother Mary statue in there. A little wooden man with his little wooden family,” Richard Emerson says and mockingly crosses himself.</p><p>Sam grits his teeth. This guy really needs to have his arrogant nose broken by somebody. He can feel Dean bristling next to him.</p><p>“Yes, yes, very funny, Richard. As you say, you really do have the best sense of humor in your family,” Luke replies.</p><p>The riding crop twitches in the other man’s hand and Sam prepares himself in case he needs to protect the priest. Leaning forward, the man on the horse taps the riding crop against Luke’s flushed cheek, more an act of humiliation than with the intention of physically hurting him. “Keep your nephews out of trouble, Father Luke. You don’t want anything to happen to them that will ruin this family reunion of yours.” He pulls at the reins of his horse and gallops between them so they have no choice but to leap out of the way.</p><p>“What a complete dick,” Dean says.</p><p>Luke takes a couple of deep breaths, then spits on the floor, making Sam raise his eyebrows in surprise. “He’s not the worst of them,” Luke hisses. “He’s one of seven brothers, each one crueller and more vicious than the other. Their father is a devil incarnate. They own everything around here.” He gives them an angry look. “I leave the two of you alone for five minutes and you’re already tangling with the Emersons? If you had any sense at all, you would get out of here as fast as you can. There’s nothing here for you but trouble.”</p><p>“Oh, Uncle Luke, don’t be like that. What would mom say,” Dean replies with a smirk.</p><p>“You can joke all you like, Dean. But <em>that</em> over there,” Luke says, nodding at the gallows, “is not for show. Remember that you’re not just risking your own lives by meddling with things here.”</p><p>Sam watches Luke stalk angrily back across the square into the church. “He’s right. We should be careful.”</p><p>“Yeah, I know,” Dean agrees. Hie eyes are focused on something over Sam’s shoulder. Sam turns and sees the child from earlier. It’s a boy of about eight or nine years old. He’s lurking in the shadows of a passageway off the square, watching them. He shrinks back when Dean says, “Hey there, want to come out here and talk to us? We’re not going to hurt you.”</p><p>“Or we could come over there to you, if that’s okay?” Sam asks in a quiet, reassuring voice.</p><p>The boys bites his lip and looks furtively over his shoulder. He nods. They approach him cautiously like he’s a wild pony about to bolt. Dean talks gentle nonsense to him as they walk up to him, the way he does when he approaches a skittish horse he’s about to break in. “My name’s Dean. And this giant over here is my brother Sam. He ate all the carrots when we were little. And that’s why he’s so tall and has such stupid-looking curly hair. He can also see in the dark. That’s what happens when you eat all the carrots.”</p><p>The boy makes a scoffing, snickering sound. “No, it isn’t. That’s just a story.”</p><p>Dean laughs. “Yeah, you’re right, it is just a story. Now you know our names, want to tell us yours?”</p><p>“Adam,” the boy says. “Adam Milligan.” He has a really serious face for such a small kid. His eyes are a deep cornflower blue and there’s a smattering of freckles across his nose. His thick, wheat-colored hair hangs low over his eyebrows and he keeps pushing it off his forehead.</p><p>“It’s nice to meet you, Adam. Did those older boys hurt you?”</p><p>Adam frowns and tucks his bangs behind his ears but they just spring back again. “They’re mean. There are a lot of mean people here.” With a small grimace, he rubs a spot on his back where the stone must have hit him.</p><p>“Yeah, we noticed,” Dean says dryly.</p><p>“It didn’t used to be like this. It’s because the devil’s here. He made everything mean and bad.”</p><p>Sam glances at Dean. “The devil’s just a story, Adam,” he says carefully.</p><p>“No, it isn’t,” the boy replies firmly. “He lives out in the forest. He can make people’s wishes come true but then you have to sell him your soul.”     </p><p>Dean asks, “Do you know where he lives in the forest?”</p><p>The boy shakes his head. “I’m not allowed to play out there anymore. My mom doesn’t let me. It’s too dangerous. I have to stay at home all the time now because there are so many bad people everywhere”</p><p>“We’d really like to talk to your mom,” Sam says. “ Do you think maybe you could take us to her?”</p><p>The boy gives him a solemn look. “I’m not supposed to do that.”</p><p>“That’s really smart. And you should always be wary of strangers. But you can trust us, I promise. We don’t want to hurt you or your mom. We want to help. That’s what we do. My brother and I hunt monsters.”</p><p>Unperturbed, the boy nods his head. “You’re hunters. I thought so.”</p><p>“How do you know about hunters?” Sam asks him in surprise. “Have you met one before?”</p><p>“Maybe,” the boy says evasively.</p><p>“Did you meet a hunter recently, Adam? Did one come through the village?”</p><p>“He isn’t here anymore.”</p><p>“Do you know where he went?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Is his name John Winchester.”</p><p>Sam knows he’s firing off too many questions. Dean places a steadying hand on his shoulder. “Slow down there, Sam.”</p><p>“I told you,” the boy says with sudden anger as tears well up in his eyes. “He’s not here anymore. He went away and left us. Just stop asking so many questions!”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Sam says placatingly. “I didn’t mean to upset you. But we really need to talk to your mom. We just want to understand what’s going on here.”</p><p>The boy looks them over carefully, a frown creasing his forehead. “You don’t seem to be scared of anything. I saw the way you stood up to Mr. Emerson. Acting like that can get you killed, you know. The Emersons are very bad people.”</p><p>“I’m not going to lie to you, Adam. We are scared a lot of the time but we try to be brave anyway. We look out for each other. And we’re not leaving until we’ve done everything we can to help the people here.”</p><p>The boy sighs. “You know you’re going to get me into trouble with my mom, right? She’s so worried all the time. Sometimes she shouts at me for things that are not even my fault. I’m not allowed to do anything and she never smiles anymore.”</p><p>“We just want to talk to her.”</p><p>Adam nods in agreement. “Okay. I’ll show you where we live. It’s not far.”</p><p>They follow him as he leads them to the edge of the village. A muddy track runs in front of a row of whitewashed cottages. The door of one of the cottages suddenly opens and the woman from earlier appears. She has a shotgun in her hands and it’s aimed levelly at them.</p><p>“Mom!” Adam exclaims, his blue eyes rounding in surprise.</p><p>“Get away from them, Adam,” the woman says in a steady, authoritative voice. “Come here.”</p><p>Adam walks up the path to her. “Mom, they just want to talk to you.”</p><p>“Get in the house <em>now</em>, Adam.” She pulls Adam behind her, then looks down the barrel of the shotgun at Sam and Dean, her jaw set. Adam squirms behind her, chewing his bottom lip nervously.</p><p>Sam holds his hands up in pacifying gesture. “Mrs. Milligan, please. We’re not a threat to you or to Adam. All we want to do is talk.”</p><p>Adam tugs at her skirt. “Mom, they’re hunters. They just want to help.”</p><p>The woman frowns and lowers the shotgun. “You’re hunters?”</p><p>“Yes, we are.”</p><p>The drapes twitch in the window of the neighbouring cottage and the woman says, “Come inside. Quickly.” They follow her into the house and she locks the door behind them. It’s homely and neat and tidy inside. There’s a scent of freshly baked bread in the air.</p><p>“Go in the other room, Adam," the woman says. The boy looks like he wants to argue but she gives him a firm look and he reluctantly does what she says. When the door closes on him, she gives them a hard look and asks tersely, “What do you want?” She still has the shotgun held loosely in her hands.</p><p>“We’re looking for somebody. He’s a hunter. A man called John Winchester,” Dean says.</p><p>Her hands tighten on the shotgun. “Why are you looking for him?”</p><p>“Because we’re his sons.”</p><p>She blinks in surprise. “John has sons?”</p><p>“Yes, my name’s Dean and this is my brother Sam. We’re trying to find our dad. Do you know where he is, Mrs. Milligan?”</p><p>“Call me Kate, please.” She hangs the shotgun on the brackets above the mantle, then turns around to face them, rubbing her hands together in an unconsciously anxious gesture, then clasps them firmly in front of her body. “Are you really John’s boys?”</p><p>“Yes, we’ve been looking for him for a long time.”</p><p>A shadow crosses her face. “Why did he leave you? Did he abandon his family?”</p><p>Sam can sense what she’s feeling. Fragments of worry, loss, abandonment, an underlying edge of anger and resentment. He startles suddenly as he realizes what it means. This woman loves their father. She was in a relationship with him. “It wasn’t really like that,” he says quietly. “Dean and I look after each other. There was something he felt he needed to do. And you know what he’s like. He’s stubborn and single-minded. Nothing stands in his way when he’s focused on something.”</p><p>She smiles, a small lifting of the corners of her mouth. It’s a look of intimate and affectionate recognition. Sam feels Dean’s moment of realization as it happens. He stiffens next to Sam and makes a small, huffed sound of surprise.</p><p>“How long has he been missing, Kate?” Sam asks her.</p><p>“Why do you think he’s missing?”</p><p>Sam frowns as he realizes what she’s been thinking. “You think he just left? That he walked out on you and everything that’s been going on here?”</p><p>She blushes. “I thought it might be a possibility. There’s something very evil here. He promised to help, but maybe it was too much for him. And there isn’t a lot else to keep him here,” she adds quietly, an edge of defensiveness in her tone.</p><p>Sam looks around the small cottage, the cheery fire, the whittled wooden figures on the table. He looks at her, takes in the brightness of her golden hair, the physical strength in the line of her shoulders, her honest, direct gaze, and the soft curve of her mouth that suggests humor and sensuality, hidden a little by sadness and worry. “I wouldn’t say that. It looks like there’s a lot here to keep a man in one place.”</p><p>She blushes again. “Is your mother—is she—?”</p><p>Dean answers the question she’s struggling to verbalize. “She’s dead. She was killed by a monster. It happened a long time ago now.”</p><p>“I’m so sorry.” Kate's face fills with sympathy. “That must have been hard on all of you. Is that what set John on this path? Her death.”</p><p>Sam nods. “Kate, he wouldn’t just walk out on you. He’s still here. He’s in trouble.”</p><p>“How do you know that?” she asks.</p><p>“Sam’s got a psychic gift,” Dean says directly, his voice a little dry. “It sounds unbelievable, I know, but it’s true. He was born with it. He has visions and he knows stuff.”</p><p>She raises her eyebrows, but she doesn’t look skeptical or particularly troubled. “I see.”</p><p>Her calmness is a surprise and Sam understands what would have attracted his father to her. She has an aura of quiet, stoical strength. He wonders if his mother had the same qualities. He doesn’t remember her at all, and it’s a void he feels constantly, an emotional emptiness inside him that nothing else can quite fill.</p><p>“I think he’s imprisoned somewhere here. Who would do that to him?”</p><p>“The Emersons,” she replies immediately. “They’ve always been ruthless, cutthroat bastards, but now they’re in league with a demon. It started about a year ago. People started disappearing. Nobody knows what happens to them, or if they do know, they don’t really want to talk about it. There are horrible, whispered stories about evil rituals and sacrifices in the forest on the night of the full moon. The Emersons kill anybody who get in their way. Everyone in the village is terrified. A family I know tried to secretly leave in the middle of the night, but the next morning the husband’s body was hanging from the gallows and their house had burned down. I don’t know what happened to the wife or the two daughters.”    </p><p>She drops her face into her hands, then rubs her eyes quickly and gives them an embarrassed, bitter smile. “I’m sorry.”</p><p>Dean reaches out and pats her shoulder gently. “Don’t be. Did my dad talk to you about what he was doing?”</p><p>She shakes her head ruefully. “No, I tried to help him, but he wouldn’t tell me what he was planning. He said it was safer for me not to know. Then I came back one day and all his things were gone. I thought—well, you know what I thought. That was three days ago.” She looks at Sam. “Can you—” she cuts herself off.</p><p>“Can I what,” Sam asks gently.</p><p>“Can you really tell if he’s still alive?” she asks quietly and blinks away the tears in her eyes.</p><p>“He’s alive, Kate.”</p><p>She nods her head and takes a deep breath. “Okay, then we need to find him. The priest might know where they’re keeping him.”</p><p>Sam and Dean look at each other. “Father Luke?” Sam asks with a frown.</p><p>Kate nods. “The Emersons never leave him alone. They torment him constantly, as if they’re trying to break his spirit because he’s a man of God. A few months ago, I saw the Emerson brothers drag him out of the forest. They were on horseback and Father Luke was trying to stay on his feet behind them. His hands were tied together and one of the older Emerson brothers had the other end of the rope. He was pulling Father Luke behind his horse. He kept falling and being dragged along the ground. The other Emerson brothers were laughing and cheering. They’re evil, vicious men.”</p><p>Dean takes his revolver out of his coat pocket and checks the cylinder, then puts it back. “Where are you going?” Sam asks him warily.</p><p>“To talk to a priest, Sammy.”</p><p> </p><p>     </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Imprisonment</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>There are references to demon worship/orgy/sacrifice stuff in this chapter. I don't think it's too heavy but you may feel differently. It doesn't include the Winchesters (or any of the other tagged canon characters) as participants. Azazel is not getting his perverted paws on the main characters.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He’s been trapped in the dark like this before so John knows to expect the hallucinations. Shadows that aren’t there shift and move around the room and there are sudden bursts of light in his field of vision. He knows it’s only his brain filling in the gaps and making things up because it can’t process the blank solidity of such complete and utter darkness.</p><p>He’s never had to endure it for this long before, though, and everything is becoming harder to predict. Exactly how much time has passed, he doesn’t know. Days. Maybe four or five. He’s no longer hungry and the stomach cramps have passed. Sometimes he has moments of almost transcendent elation. He knows that’s not a good thing. Pain is important. It reminds you that you’re still alive, keeps you present in your body. He can’t remember the last time he took a pee or had a crap. His body is holding on tight to its reserves.</p><p>He feels his way around the cell again with his hands, mapping every nook and cranny, working out the measurements and repeating them aloud to himself, adds them up, works out the numbers and constructs a mental picture of the room in his mind. It’s important to hold onto a sense of spatial reality. He needs to be present, to be <em>here</em> in this room, needs to know where he is, otherwise he might slip away and not be able to find his way back again through the darkness into the light.</p><p>He was unconscious when they threw him in the cell, and even though he can’t see anything, he’s become intimately familiar with the texture of this room, with every ridge and every crevice in the floor and the walls.</p><p>There’s a trickle of water oozing from a tiny crack between two stones in the wall. He crouches in front of it and licks the moisture. It’s cold and earthy on his tongue. There’s something growing on the surface of the wall, moss or algae perhaps, and he can taste the green coldness of it.</p><p>He lies back, pulls the collar of his coat tightly around his neck and curls into a fetal position with his hands tucked between his thighs. It’s so cold. He should move more, work up some body heat but he doesn’t have that kind of energy to burn. When he closes his eyes, he can see bursts of red light on the backs of his eyelids. They’re still there when he opens his eyes. It’s the hot red of a late-summer sunset.</p><p>Mary had a dress that color. It had these small, square wooden buttons running down the middle of it and buttonholes that were too narrow to pull them through easily. He remembers lying with her on a blanket in the meadow out the back of the house, trying to loosen those stupid buttons so he could touch her. In his mind he can see her laughing and batting his hands away as she says, “Not out here, John.”</p><p>“Why not?” he asks her teasingly. “Dean’s looking after Sammy. Nobody can see us. It’s just you and me.” He manages to loosen the buttons and slips his hand inside to stroke the softness of her skin. She’s so warm. His hand is too cold and his touch makes her shiver.</p><p>No, that’s not right. His hands are cold <em>now</em>, here in this room, this cell that is six by eight feet in dimension, which is forty-eight square feet. ‘This is where you are, John,’ he tells himself. ‘Hold onto reality.’</p><p>‘What harm can daydreams do,’ the weaker part of himself argues as he sinks slowly back into that memory of sunlight and Mary’s warm beauty and the far-off sound of Dean singing to Sam. He drifts away into it, then slides into a deeper and darker pool of unconsciousness, allowing the familiar, terrible horror of his worst nightmare to rise up before him out of the darkness.</p><p>She’s lying on the floor in their bedroom, her neck at a strange angle and her golden hair covering her face. For an endless moment he can’t make sense of what he’s looking at. Then he sees the demon wolf standing over the crib and reaching into it with those paws that are half-animal half-man.</p><p>Enormous flames suddenly leap up in a fiery circle around the crib and the wolf lurches back, growling in anger and pain.</p><p>John can see Sam between the flames, swaddled in his blanket and looking straight back at him, no tears in his eyes and no fear in his expression. From the day he was born, his youngest son always had that look in his eyes, the knowing look of a grown man with a lifetime of experience behind him. But in this moment his eyes look hardly human. They seem to glow the same color as the flames surrounding him.  </p><p>The wolf makes a grunting sound as it licks its scorched paws. Taking advantage of its distraction and acting on pure instinct, John picks up a heavy rocking chair and smashes it over the creature’s back. It collapses to the floor. Reaching through a gap in the flames, he grabs Sam out of the crib and rushes down the stairs to where Dean is waiting for him. He knows he doesn’t have to say anything as he hands Dean the swaddled bundle. Protecting his little brother is an instinct that is built into Dean’s being. He nods at John solemnly, clutches Sam tightly against his chest and runs out of the house.</p><p>John waits until his boys are safely outside before he races back up the stairs. The wolf is getting unsteadily to its feet, shaking its head to clear it, a bleeding gash on its muzzle. It rises up to its full height and John’s breath gets caught in his throat. It must be eight feet tall. Its eyes glow an unearthly tawny color as it flexes its paws, the nails growing longer and sharper, curving into black-tipped talons. John doesn’t stop to consider what he’s doing and rushes at it, tackling that heavily muscled body with all his strength, his shoulder smashing into its midriff and propelling it backwards onto the burning crib. The wolf howls in pain and John smells burning fur.  </p><p>Some sort of flash of power comes out of the wolf and flings him across the room. The back of his head hits the wall and pain explodes through his body. He lands on the floor next to Mary. Through the veil of her hair, her eyes are blank and unseeing. John has to hold down a wail of agony that wants to erupt out of his chest. He looks up and the wolf gives him a mocking smirk before it drops down onto all fours and leaps over him, smashing through the window and then disappearing into the night.</p><p>John sits up and pulls Mary's body onto his lap, cradling her against his chest. The flames leap higher and higher around him. The heat is intense, like a physical force in the room. He knows he needs to get up and move, but his body is frozen, locked down. A burning beam collapses near him and he becomes aware of all the noise surrounding him, as if his hearing has suddenly returned after a long spell of deafness.</p><p>He hears people rushing up the stairs. Hands grip his shoulders and try to pull him out of the room. He starts fighting and trying to get away, kicking and punching wildly. Somebody hits him hard, catching the side of his jaw sharply and snapping his head back. He recognizes one of his neighbors, a burly woodsman he’s known his whole life. He roars at him, “We have to get out of here, John! Your boys are safe outside. There’s nothing more you can do here.” The roof is burning above them and part of the floor has collapsed. He can’t see Mary anywhere. “Now, John! Now!”</p><p>That shouted command echoes through his head as he wakes up from the nightmare.</p><p>Sitting up quickly, he draws in a few ragged breaths and tries to get the smell of fire and smoke out of his nose. Tears drip from his eyes and his nose is running. He rubs his hands roughly over his face, wipes his nose with the back of his sleeve and gets to his feet.</p><p>The pitch dark is a shock every time he wakes up to it. He shuffles forward, measuring the paces and checks the metal gateway of the cell, as he has done over and over again since he woke up in this prison. There’s a padlock and he feels it with careful fingers, then runs his hands over the bars of the gate, trying to find a nail or a splinter of metal that he could use to pick the lock. It’s probably the hundredth time he’s done this. There’s nothing. Suddenly enraged, he shakes the bars with all his strength and hears the echo of clanking metal down the long passage on the other side of the imprisoning framework.</p><p>Fits of rage are futile. He knows that. Sitting on the floor with his back against the cold wall, he slows down his breathing, concentrating on each inhalation and exhalation, emptying his mind and focusing on regulating and controlling his body. It’s a technique he was taught by a wise woman he met in a mountain village who told him that his anger would burn him up from the inside if he didn’t get control of it.</p><p>He thinks of her and of the creature he killed that was terrorizing her village. His mind drifts and he thinks about the road he’s been on, the creatures he’s hunted, the people he’s met. All of it leading him here. He was so close to ending it all, only to be overcome by Azazel’s human acolytes. It’s people who often pose the greatest threat, their stupidity and greed, or sometimes it’s just their good intentions that get in the way.</p><p>He’s met people like the Emersons everywhere he’s ever been. Grasping, power-hungry, vicious people looking for a supernatural shortcut to more power. It’s Azazel’s favored methodology. He gets a perverse pleasure from twisting and corrupting human beings in this way, molding them into the blunt tools of sin. It amuses him. What Azazel really enjoys is watching bad people making good people suffer.</p><p>“It’s free will, John,” he said to him once mockingly. “I don’t make them do it. They <em>want</em> to do it. I just show them the way.”</p><p>That was a long time ago when John still naively thought a demon like Azazel could be killed with ordinary weapons, or be permanently returned to the underworld through spells and rituals. How many times has he tried and failed to banish or destroy him? So many. Over the years Azazel has worn different guises, the bodies of different men in different times and places, but his true form is the demon wolf.</p><p>And each and every time they fought and John lost to him, Azazel would let him live so he could try again.</p><p>“I like knowing you’re out there pursuing me, John, and that every waking moment of your life is consumed with thoughts of me. It’s romantic and such a turn-on. It’s what I think about when I stroke my hard wolf cock. I think about you out there searching for me, and when I come, howling your name, I think about your face in that sweet moment when you looked at me over the body of your dead wife. Right then, we were bonded to each other. You will eventually die in my arms, just like a lover, because that’s our fate, but not quite yet. See you down the road, sweetheart.”</p><p>And here they are, what should be the end of the road. He finally has the colt, the one weapon that will kill something as powerful as Azazel. It’s hidden behind a brick in a cavity in the wall above the fireplace in Kate’s home.</p><p>Then he was ambushed by the Emerson brothers. It was stupid of him not to have seen it coming. He'd been distracted by the intensity of his feelings for Kate. His mind drifts toward thoughts of her. Beautiful, strong, generous Kate, who took him into her life and her bed knowing how broken he was, willing to take a chance on a dangerous and violent man because she said she could see the goodness in him still.</p><p>All the transitory, stolen moments with other women throughout the years hadn’t prepared him for her. They fitted together instantly like the internal mechanism of a lock, the sliders fitting into place and sealing them together. He’s only experienced that sense of rightness once before in his life.</p><p>He pictures himself sitting in front of the fire with Adam—that serious, solemn little kid—whittling wooden figures of people and animals and imaginary creatures, telling him stories about adventurous heroes and dangerous battles. John's lips quirk as he imagines Adam's eyebrows arching in amused disbelief, happy to be entertained, but always so serious and skeptical. If only he knew that the truth was even more incredible.</p><p>John is suddenly hit by such an intense longing for his own boys that he feels like he’s been kicked in the chest. He pushes it back down inside himself, trying to bury it so it won’t overwhelm him. It’s an impossible dream. Him being with them would only put them in more danger. They're safer without him. Sam will always be a beacon to monsters like Azazel, but at least he’s safe with Dean inside the protective embrace of the warded trees that defend their home village.</p><p>They never seemed to need him anyway, wrapped up as they were in each other. John knows Dean wouldn’t think twice about laying down his life for Sam. They’re at home together and that’s all that matters.</p><p>But he can't help the flutter of hope inside him, no matter how hard he tries to crush it down. If he makes it out of this alive, maybe there will be a chance for him to see them again, maybe they’ll forgive him for leaving. Maybe, maybe, maybe. A big part of him thinks it’s doubtful, but another small voice insists there is always hope.</p><p>He’s managed to get out of worse situations than this one. The colt is here, safely hidden. All he needs to do is to get to it. And he knows he won’t die here in this prison cell. It’s too prosaic a death. Azazel wouldn’t allow it. After all this time, he’ll want John’s death to be a performance. He’ll demand the elaborate drama of a human sacrifice on a demonic altar under the full moon. That’s more Azazel’s style.</p><p>John was there for the human sacrifice during the last full moon. After following a procession of hooded and cloaked men from the village into the forest, he witnessed their offering to the demon wolf. It’s not the first one he’s seen. Azazel has always demanded this kind of ritualistic worship from his human disciples. He watched Azazel defile the Emerson brothers on the altar. And afterwards some poor, terrified man from the village was laid out so Azazel could rip out his throat and eat his heart. John felt guilty watching him die, but he didn’t intervene. The moment had to be perfectly timed. There could be no rash mistakes.</p><p>Mostly, he was just struck by the absurdity of the whole thing because he knows the ceremonial ritual itself is nothing but show. There’s no magic or power in it. For Azazel, it’s just a game he plays with people in his thrall. He’s amused by the idea of them assembling in his honor every full moon as if he were the devil himself.</p><p>And of course he would be aroused by the perversion of the Emerson father watching his seven sons take turns with a demon wolf on a black altar.</p><p>John thinks he’s probably been doing this for too long because he was actually grimly amused by their willingness to suck demon dick for the promise of power. Wicked people will abase themselves in a thousand different ways for that dark gift. The joke is on them because it’s not the demon seed that gives them unnatural physical strength and the luck of the devil. It’s the corrupted blood they drink from the wounds Azazel inflicts on himself during the ritual.</p><p>“The gift is in the blood, John,” Azazel explained to him years ago. “But I can't just hand it over to them. Life is so dull without ceremony. Your Catholic church gets that part of it right at least. The church knows that it’s the rituals that give the act of worship style and gravitas. Of course, I give my flock so much more than your God ever could. I give them the power in my blood and the free gift of my seed, not some bread and wine transubstantiated excuse for the real thing.”  </p><p>The village priest had been there that night and was forced to watch the whole thing. Azazel hates a man of the cloth. The corruption of the clergy is something he does for fun.</p><p>But it’s exactly this type of showmanship that will be Azazel’s undoing. John has faith in that. He will make a mistake because of his arrogant game-playing.</p><p> </p><p>He’s sitting there in the dark, smiling bitterly to himself at the thought of that monster being the cause of his own downfall, when John hears something. Trapped in the dark like this for days, his hearing has become acutely sensitive. He hears it again. Soft, furtive footsteps coming down the long passage that leads to the cell. In the distance he makes out a single burning torch held aloft and three figures making their way towards him.</p><p>Quickly, he turns over on his side away from the gated entrance to the cell and pretends to be asleep, preparing himself for a fight if this is the moment for it.</p><p>“Dad is that you?” somebody asks in a low whisper.</p><p>It can’t be real. It must be another hallucination. His mind is playing terrible tricks on him. It seems so real though, the ruddy light behind him and that familiar voice.</p><p>“Dad, it’s me. It’s Dean.”</p><p>John rolls over and blinks in the light from the fire torch. It’s been years, but of course he recognizes them immediately: Sam and Dean, no longer boys but fully grown men. Dean looks elated to see him. Sam is wearing a look of shocked sorrow. John guesses he must look pretty awful. The village priest is with them. He looks terrified, but determined, a spark of spirit in him that wasn’t there the last time John saw him.</p><p>Dean says, “We’re going to get you out of here, okay. Just hold on.” He fits a steel bar with a tapered end into the padlock and snaps open the shackle.</p><p>As they open the gate, John tries to get up but his legs have gone weak and shaky. His sons haul him up and throw his arms over their shoulders. Open mouthed, he looks from one to the other. “What the hell are you boys doing here?”</p><p>They both give him dryly amused smiles at the absurdity of the question. “Rescuing you of course,” Dean says. “What the hell else would we be doing?”</p>
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<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Brotherly love</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The OCs started doing their own thing in this chapter. Warnings for incest of the non-Winchester variety and just general sinfulness.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Richard Emerson wakes up so hard he thinks his cock is going to split apart. He jerks upright in bed and sucks in deep breaths, his heart beating fast in his chest and his asshole twitching from the phantom dream-feeling of being penetrated by the demon wolf.</p><p>
  <em>“He’s yours, Richard. All yours. Just take him. Take him, take him, take him.”</em>
</p><p>The demon’s voice continues echoing in Richard’s head as he struggles to free himself from the sheets twisted around his sweat-drenched body. He looks up and notices that Eli is perched on the ornately carved footboard of his four-poster bed, silently watching him. His hair is sleep-tousled and he’s holding a half-eaten apple. His soft red mouth is wet with apple sap. “What were you dreaming about, brother?” he asks with a knowing smile.</p><p>The pale morning light shines through the window next to Eli, making his skin look like milk. He's shirtless and his linen underwear is worn so thin that Richard can see the soft weight of his cock and balls through the material. Arousal, sickening and beyond his control, flares through Richard. He grits his teeth and swallows the growl in his throat, clenching his hands into fists to stop himself from grabbing his brother’s ankle and wrenching him onto the bed.</p><p>Eli reads his expression and his lips quirk in a knowing smirk. He lifts his arms in a sinuous stretch. His skin is so white it’s unearthly. Constellations of freckles stretch in swirling patterns across his body and the hair in his armpits glints red-gold in the light. “Hungry?” he asks, licking his lips and offering Richard the half-eaten apple. The growl trapped in Richard’s throat escapes and Eli laughs at the sound of it. He throws the apple aside, takes Richard’s foot in his hand and massages the inner arch. “I'm getting so bored of this, Richard, I don’t know why you won’t just take what you want.”</p><p>Surging forward, Richard grabs him by the throat and pulls him roughly onto the bed. Leaning over him, he snarls in Eli's face, “You don’t know anything about what I want, Eli.”</p><p>Eli blinks and his eyes turn completely black. He’s the only Emerson brother that it happens to, as if the demon blood has a stronger connection to him than it does to the rest of them. “Stop flaring your nostrils at me like that, Richard. Of course I know what you want.” He wraps his legs around Richard’s hips and arches up. “The demon comes to you in your dreams, doesn’t he? He tells you he’s favored you, that you can have whatever you want. And it's true; you can. Just be honest with yourself. Tell me what you want, brother.” He starts moving his hips and rubbing up against Richard's erection like a cat, a soft purring sound coming from deep in his chest.</p><p>Richard stifles a moan. He tightens his hold on Eli's throat and watches his brother's face turn wine-red. Little beads of perspiration form on Eli's top lip and he starts gasping for air, but his mouth remains stubbornly twisted in a sarcastic smirk. His eyes are the color of obsidian marbles. Richard knows he could kill him right now, that Eli wouldn’t even fight it. He’d probably orgasm in the middle of it.</p><p>Even before the demon came and filled them with his corrupted blood, Eli was like this. So wild and reckless, full of devious plans, delighting in wickedness, and always so full of life and energy. It’s why Richard loves his youngest brother so completely. Eli makes him feel intensely alive when most of the time Richard walks around feeling like he's dead inside.</p><p>He’s always felt like that, as if there’s a deadness at the core of him. He was really young when he first realized that his emotional core was fundamentally different to everybody else around him. He's never been able to experience emotions in the way that other people do. Intellectually, he understands concepts like pity and anger and happiness, but most of the time he can't fully experience those things for himself, even though he tries. He can watch his tyrannical father whip a horse or a man, see a beautiful sunset or a mother breastfeeding a child. It’s all the same to him.</p><p>“It’s because you were born without a soul,” Eli said to him once with a little chuckle, as if the idea delighted him.</p><p>It’s an idea that makes sense to Richard, too. And maybe it's why he's less affected by the demon blood than his brothers. Maybe people need a soul to be really affected by evil. The human sacrifices in the forest and all that blood and violence vaguely piqued his curiosity at first but now they just bore him. Only the sex excites him still, but that’s because of Eli. Nothing else. </p><p>The demon knows, of course, how he feels about Eli and always takes his time with him. Eli knows too and everything he does on the altar with the wolf is for an audience of one, his eyes never straying from Richard’s. It’s the same for Richard. He feels as if Eli is possessing the demon wolf and it’s really his brother doing those depraved things to him. He has to bite his lip constantly to stop himself from moaning Eli’s name.</p><p>Lust has become an unquenchable thirst inside him, but he doesn’t act on it because warring inside him is the only other emotion he’s ever experienced with any intensity: the desire to love and protect Eli.</p><p>Their mother died giving birth to Eli when Richard was seven years old. Since then he’s been taking care of Eli, protecting him from their father’s tyrannical rages and the thuggish bullying of the other five brothers between Richard as the oldest and Eli as the youngest. Their house has always been a place where violence was encouraged, where it ran rampant and survival of the fittest was the only rule that mattered.</p><p>There was a moment—Richard remembers it clearly—when he realized he was capable of feeling love. Eli was lying in his crib, his red-gold hair a halo around his beautiful face, looking up at Richard with such a trusting expression that it made his breath catch. In that moment he realized he would willingly sacrifice his life to protect Eli.</p><p>It was a constant responsibility as they grew up because Eli courted danger on purpose, looked for it in everything he did. He continually taunted their father and brothers, dove off the highest cliffs into the lake, rode the wildest horses at breakneck speed, hunted the biggest, meanest wolves and bears in the forest. It was exhausting and exhilarating.</p><p>Richard doesn’t know when his protective love for Eli started to twist into sexual desire. Maybe when his brother came out of puberty and his slender body turned lithe and sinuous. Certainly before the man with the yellow eyes turned up on their doorstep and promised to restore the declining Emerson fortune, assuring them that everything in the village could be theirs once more after years of their inheritance being run into the ground by their feckless, drunken beast of a father.</p><p>All it would cost was their souls. And why would an Emerson need one of those anyway.</p><p>He's wanted Eli for a long time, but since the demon’s arrival he feels mad with desire for him, and of course Eli fuels it constantly. He pushes and pushes like this all the time until Richard feels like he could literally kill him in a moment of madness. </p><p>Feeling his brother’s body go slack underneath him, he quickly loosens his tight grip on his throat. “Eli!”</p><p>Eli’s eyes drift open and he smiles up at Richard. Clearing his throat, he rubs the red marks around his neck before taking Richard’s hand and sucking one of his fingers into his hot, wet mouth. Richard's breath stutters. Eli opens wider to take a second finger, running his tongue between Richard’s fingers down to the connecting skin between them.</p><p>“Fuck!” Richard pulls his hand away and shoves Eli off the bed.</p><p>Eli lands flat on his back on the brightly-colored Persian rug, laughing when he looks up. Leaning back on his elbows, he stretches his supple body so Richard’s eyes are drawn to the hard bulge between his legs. “I wish you’d stop being so fucking <em>ethical, </em>Richard. It’s boring and it really doesn’t suit you.”</p><p>Richard grits his teeth. “I will always protect you, even if it means protecting you from me.”</p><p>Eli laughs again and leaps nimbly to his feet. Leaning forward with his hands on the mattress, he kisses Richard’s forehead. “I don’t want you to protect me. I just <em>want</em> you. You can have me, Richard. I give myself to you freely. For god’s sake, just take me before I die of lust.” He gives Richard a coy look and flutters his long, dark eyelashes. “That could happen, you know. I could actually die from wanting you. Surely you don’t want that on your conscience, my beloved brother.”</p><p>Richard can’t help his snort of laughter. He wraps his hand around Eli’s throat and squeezes lightly. “You’re a sinful, manipulative little whore, Eli.”</p><p>Eli smiles at him seductively. “Yes, I am.” Sitting on the bed, he takes hold of Richard's hand and threads their fingers together. “Is it really a sin? <em>Incest</em>.” He rolls the word out of his mouth, enunciating each syllable and stretching the sibilance into the caressing sound of a snake whisper. “We can have whatever we want, Richard. We can have each other. We can have all of it. I know the demon has told you how. <em>Patricide</em>. <em>Fratricide</em>.” He laughs aloud at the sound of those words and says them again in a lilting, sing-song tone, like he’s reciting nonsense words from a child’s nursery rhyme.</p><p>“I don’t want any of this,” Richard answers and looks around at the ostentation surrounding them. The expensive furniture, the silk curtains, the gilt-framed mirrors.</p><p>Eli smiles and lifts their clasped hands to kiss Richard’s knuckles. “I know you don’t. He thinks we do. But that’s because he doesn’t understand us. The demon thinks we’re like them, our beastly father and doltish brothers. He thinks we want wealth and possessions. We're nothing like them. They're so stupid they're barely alive.”</p><p>Richard nods and tightens his hold on Eli’s hand. Both of them have always been outsiders in this family, but Eli especially. His wild energy and his pale skin and red-gold hair are so different to the indolent arrogance and dark looks that are typically Emerson. As a little boy, Richard was convinced his brother was a magical foundling abandoned on their doorstep.</p><p>“Dad and the dolts are less important. We could slit their throats in their sleep. What we need to do is to get rid of the demon, and that will be more difficult.”</p><p>Richard nods again. “I’m bored of him.” </p><p>Eli crosses his legs and Richard averts his eyes from the glimpse of Eli’s cock where his underwear gapes open. Heat rises in his cheeks and his fingers twitch with the desire to run his hand up Eli's thigh and into his underwear. Thankfully, Eli doesn't notice.  "I can hear his thoughts, Richard. All the time. The blood links me to him. He’s ridiculous, so arrogant and obsessed with his own petty vendettas.”</p><p>“The hunter escaped the dungeon last night. He must've had help from Luke and the two strangers. There's no way he escaped on his own. I knew Luke was up to something.”</p><p>Eli bites his bottom lip thoughtfully. “The demon lured them here. The hunter was the bait. They’re the hunter's sons. It’s the youngest one that interests Azazel. He can hardly stand to admit it to himself but I think deep down he's actually afraid of them. I can sense it.”</p><p>“Can they kill him?” Richard asks hopefully. That would be ideal. They could get rid of the demon without getting their own hands dirty. </p><p>“I don’t know. Azazel doesn’t think so, but his arrogance makes him stupid. It’s possible. We need to be ready for anything.”</p><p>Richard lies back on the bed, pulling Eli with him and tucking him affectionately under his arm. He sighs, then says quietly, “It’s almost the full moon. They'll try and ambush the demon during the ceremony.”</p><p>Eli murmurs in agreement and wraps his arms around Richard, snuffling into his neck. “I love you,” he says, his hand sliding slowly down Richard's body, rubbing his belly briefly before moving surreptitiously lower.</p><p>Richard rolls his eyes. “Take your hand off my cock, Eli, or I will break your fingers.”</p><p>Eli chuckles and lifts his hand to rest it gently on Richard’s chest, curling close against him. “Incest, patricide, fratricide,” he sings in a soft, lilting voice. </p><p>Richard's eyes drift closed to the sound of Eli's sinful little song.</p><p> </p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Cabin in the woods</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>John eats his oatmeal and watches his sons across the table from him. He can still see some leftover parts of the boys they once were—most obviously visible in the generous curve of Dean’s mouth and the impish arch of Sam’s nose—but otherwise they’ve changed almost beyond recognition.</p><p>As a little kid, Dean always looked like he had the potential for size and strength, and he’s certainly grown into that early promise. He’s muscular and broad-shouldered but moves with the agility of a lighter man.</p><p>And Sam. Well, Sam is something else. Where he got that height from, John has no idea. He never would’ve guessed that his youngest son was going to grow up into this tall, strong and straight-postured man. He has a way of carrying himself that reminds John of old tales of heroes who took on ancient gods and whole armies single-handedly.</p><p>He’s absorbed in watching them, which is why he misses the sound outside of somebody approaching the cabin. They’re more alert than he is and both of them stiffen instantly at the sound of breaking twigs underfoot, until the priest comes into the cabin with a nodded greeting and a basket of food that he places on the rough wooden counter in the kitchen.</p><p>Dean’s tight grip on his knife relaxes and Sam unclenches his jaw, then stretches his neck slightly to the side.</p><p>John’s hit by the sudden realization that he wouldn’t want to turn his back on either of these two men if they were strangers he’d just met in a tavern. It’s not just about their physical strength and size, there’s something that feels dangerous about them, like you’d want to keep your eyes on them just in case.</p><p>His heart aches at their loss of innocence and his own wilful ignorance. How could he have been so misguided to believe in the fantasy of them living a safe and simple life at home? It’s probably a lot closer to the truth to admit he was lying to himself because he didn’t want to face up to the reality of who they really are.</p><p>Neither of them are simple men. Sam’s gift will always make him different, will always make him dangerous, and Dean is so singularly focused on his brother, as if his entire purpose in life is to stand by his side and defend him at all costs. Not once has he flinched from that responsibility or questioned it or shown any fear of Sam’s gift. In his own way Dean is as terrifying as Sam.</p><p>If John’s honest, maybe it also made things easier for him to indulge in the fantasy of his boys living a simple, contented life at home so it didn’t distract him from what he needed to do.</p><p>“Here, dad, have some more oatmeal. You need to build up your strength.”</p><p>John shakes his head, partly to clear the heaviness of his thoughts and partly in response to Dean’s fussing. “There’s only so much food I can eat, Dean,” he says with a smile. “I’m alright, son. I’m not sick.”</p><p>“I don’t know how you stuck it out for that long in the pitch dark without losing your mind. I would’ve been drawing pictures on the walls with my own poop. Like Old Man Johnson. Do you remember? He really lost it at the end after his wife died. Went totally cuckoo.”</p><p>With an earnest frown, Adam looks up from his bowl of oatmeal and asks, “People draw pictures on the wall with their own poop?”  </p><p>“Yeah, crrrrazy people,” Dean answers, pulling a cross-eyed expression and allowing coffee to dribble out of the corner of his mouth onto the table.</p><p>Adam snickers.</p><p>Sam gives Adam a conspiratorial wink. “Dean’s problem is he can’t sit still in one place for longer than five minutes. He has real ants in his pants, just crawling around in there.”</p><p>Adam raises his eyebrows and leans to the side to give Dean’s groin a curious look. “That sounds uncomfortable.”  </p><p>Dean elbows Sam in the ribs. “Not all of us can stand in one place for hours at a time pretending to be a tree or something. Most of us are just normal.”</p><p>John grunts a surprised laugh at the incongruous contrast between their tough outward appearances and this playful banter that he remembers so well from when they were kids. It always reminded him of the behavior of puppies, the way they nip and yip at each other before collapsing into a contented pile of fur and limbs.</p><p>He’s also surprised at how good they are with Adam, then reminds himself how young both of them still are. It makes him smile a little to know they haven’t entirely lost their youthful innocence.</p><p>His smile fades when he sees Dean unconsciously run a quick, light finger over Sam’s hand resting on the table. They were always like that, constantly touching each other and checking the other was there and okay. But that’s not what just happened. There was something else underlying that instinctive caress, something he’s never seen between them before.</p><p>Sam’s eyes close briefly, nothing more than a slow blink that somebody less perceptive might not even notice, but John sees it. There’s a fleeting look on Sam's face as if Dean’s touch gave him intense physical pleasure. John’s breath gets caught in his throat and his eyes dart between them.</p><p>He becomes aware of the priest’s gaze on him and schools his features into a neutral expression before turning to give him a small, polite smile. Father Luke is in the kitchen area of the single-roomed cabin. He’s absently holding a copper kettle and a small burlap sack of coffee, his eyes on John. He doesn’t return the smile, just looks back at him speculatively, then turns away and places the kettle on the wood stove.</p><p>He’d taken all of it in, John realizes. That moment between Dean and Sam, as well as John’s reaction to it.</p><p>Kate comes into the cabin and he’s momentarily distracted by her presence. She smiles at him and he returns it. Her cheeks are flushed from the cold and her eyes are bright and clear. She always brings fresh air and light into a room with her. Crossing the room, she drops a quick kiss on the top of Adam’s head, then lightly runs her hand across John’s shoulder as if she doesn’t want to openly show him any physical affection in front of the others but can’t help that instinctive need to touch him.</p><p>It’s exactly the same type of caress Dean had given Sam. John glances at his boys and notices how both of them are smiling and looking between him and Kate. Dean gives him a smirk and a little waggle of his eyebrows, which is so juvenile and unexpected that John huffs a laugh. Kate catches the non-verbal exchange between them and blushes.</p><p>Father Luke asks her, “Do you want some coffee, Kate? I just made some fresh.”</p><p>She shakes her head. “No, thank you, father. I need to get back to the village. The Macklin boys both have fevers and Frances can’t look after the two of them as well as her bed-ridden mother. I’ve got some medicine to take to her.”    </p><p>“I think you should stay here, Kate. The village isn’t a safe place right now. The Emersons will be looking for me.”</p><p>“John, they’ve already ransacked the village,” she says with a wry smile. “They think you’re long gone. Nobody would believe that you’re foolish enough to hole up in fishing cabin not a mile away from the village so you can plan an attack on a demon with a gun that only legend says can kill it.”        </p><p>Dean laughs at the dryness of her tone. “She’s got you there, dad.”</p><p>John stops himself from putting his arm around Kate’s waist. Easy affection between them was a new thing anyway and now it’s complicated by his boys seeing him with her. “It’s not a legend,” he says quietly. “I’ve killed demons with it before.”</p><p>“Lower-level demons,” Sam interjects. “Azazel is an ancient demon. One of the first. We have no idea how much real power he has.”</p><p>They’ve already had this argument and John isn’t in the mood for rehashing it all again. He knows the legend of the colt is true, can feel it deep down in the marrow of his bones. It’s more than just hope or faith. It’s something he just <em>knows</em>.</p><p>He can feel Sam trying to read his thoughts and faces his youngest son silently, letting him in for a second so Sam can read his steady conviction. Sam colors a little like he wasn’t expecting him to know what he was doing. John raises his eyebrows challengingly, then purposefully shuts down the connection between them and blocks Sam’s access to his feelings. He’s been around seers and oracles often enough to have learned how to shut them out when he concentrates hard enough on it.</p><p>Sam blinks in surprise, then gives him a small smile. “You’re right, dad. We can’t let Azazel carry on twisting people into evil reflections of himself. He’s been doing this for centuries. He’s like a plague infecting every place he goes. The colt is what we have right now and it’s worth the gamble.“</p><p>Sam gives him a look that makes John’s chest ache with feeling for this strange, powerful and slightly frightening man. This man who is also his son, the child of his and Mary’s love for one another.</p><p>“Okay,” Dean says and swallows the rest of his coffee. “Let’s start working on a plan for how we’re going to kill an ancient demon.”</p><p>Kate pats John’s shoulder and leans forward to kiss the side of his jaw as if she’s forgotten the presence of the others in the room. “I have faith in you,” she whispers in his ear before straightening up and saying to Adam, “Get your cloak, sweetheart. It’s cold outside.”</p><p>John wonders how fate managed to lead him to her, this clear-eyed woman who deserves so much better than him, hoping hard in his heart that she won’t be let down, that <em>he</em> won’t let her down. He’s done that too often.</p><p>Adam frowns. “But I want to stay here and help with a plan to kill the demon.”</p><p>John ruffles Adam's thick hair. “Go with your mom, Adam. She needs your help and protection. That’s the most important job you have right now, and nobody else can do it but you.” </p><p>Adam nods seriously and looks up at Kate. “I’d rather go with you anyway.”</p><p>Kate smiles and wraps his cloak around him. “You’re my little man, sweetheart.” She holds out her hand out and says, “I’ve got you and you’ve got me. Always.”</p><p>Adam takes hold of her hand. “Always,” he echoes.</p><p>When Kate and Adam leave, Father Luke comes over to the table and takes a seat with them. “We’re running out of wood and it’s going to be cold tonight,” he says, looking meaningfully at Sam and Dean. “There’s a pile around the back in a clearing that needs splitting into logs.”</p><p>“Sure, Sam and me can do it,” Dean says, getting to his feet.</p><p>John and the priest watch them shrug into their coats and jostle each other as they both step through the door simultaneously. Dean elbows Sam out of his way, then grips him in a playful headlock as they scuffle and laugh their way down the porch steps.  </p><p>Their teasing voices and laughter disappear into the distance and Luke turns to look at John. “They’re very close.”</p><p>John meets his eyes steadily. “Yes, they are.”</p><p>“Maybe too close.”</p><p>John laughs a humorless sound. “Yes, maybe they are.”</p><p>“It’s not right, John.”</p><p>“Do <em>you</em> want to be the one to tell them that?”</p><p>“You’re their father.”</p><p>“I think I probably abdicated that responsibility when I left them many years ago. They’re good men, Luke.”</p><p>“Dean threatened to shoot me if I didn’t tell him where the Emersons might be holding you,” Luke answers and swirls the coffee in his mug. “I think he genuinely meant it.”</p><p>With a wry smile, John says, “Yes, they’re loyal sons as well as being good men. We’re grateful for everything you’ve done to help us, Luke. I know it’s not easy for you,” he adds gently. He’s seen so many people like this who are terrorized by fear, wanting desperately to do the right thing but so scared of the consequences of making a stand.   </p><p>Luke grips the handle of his cup. “I don’t know how you do it. Over the past year, I feel like I’ve lost my purpose, like I’ve lost myself.”</p><p>John leans across the table and forces Luke to meet his gaze. “Yes, you have. Everything’s been taken from you. The community that you loved, the belief you had in the goodness of people, your faith. But what you have is your anger and your hatred. Be angry, not afraid.”</p><p>A pulse leaps in Luke’s jaw. “Can you really do it? Can you kill him?”</p><p>John sits back in his chair. “Trust me, on the night of the full moon I am going to put a bullet between that son-of a-bitch’s yellow eyes and nothing is going to get in my way.”</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p>Despite the slight chill in the air, it’s hot work splitting logs. Dean strips off his shirt and tosses it in the direction of their coats lying in a pile on the ground.</p><p>He can feel Sam’s eyes on his body and smirks to himself as he picks up the axe again. He makes it a show, flexing his muscles as he lifts the axe above his head and brings the blade down exactly on the sweet spot that splits the log neatly in two, then leans over so Sam can get a good look at his ass as he picks up another log. Sam makes an annoyed sound behind him and Dean smirks some more. </p><p>After they’ve chopped and stacked the wood in a pile, they sit together on the trunk of a felled oak in the sunlight.</p><p>“He’s something else, right?”</p><p>“Dad?” Dean asks, leaning back lazily and soaking up the watery sunshine.</p><p>“Yeah. He was a tough bastard before, but now. Well, now he’s <em>that</em>.”</p><p>“I don’t know how he made it through four days in the pitch dark with no food and water and didn’t lose his mind. They just left him down there to rot and it’s not like he knew we were coming. You’d think it was nothing the way he talks about it.”</p><p>“It’s like he’s been stripped down to this—I don’t know, this <em>animal</em>, you know? He’s like a mountain lion or something.”</p><p>“A lone predator,” Dean says, seeing Sam nod out of the corner of his eye.</p><p>“They love each other. Him and Kate.”</p><p>“Yeah, they do.” He turns to face Sam. “We get this done and he could stay here, Sammy. He could settle down with them and be happy. He could rest after everything he’s been through.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Sam agrees and gives him a small smile.</p><p>“You think we’ve got a shot at it?”</p><p>Sam huffs a laugh. “The three of us together? That yellow-eyed bastard is going to wish he never met us.”</p><p>Dean grins, then turns serious. “I mean it, though. Do you think we have a shot at getting it done and all of us surviving it? You know Azazel better than anyone. Are we strong enough?”</p><p>Sam’s eyes are burning with conviction when he looks back at him, that flare of golden power glinting in the sunlight. “We’re strong enough, Dean, and nobody’s dying.”</p><p>“Do you still see him in your dreams?”</p><p>“Sometimes. But I’m the one in control in the dreamworld. He’s afraid of me there.”</p><p>Dean smiles. “And so he fucking should be. You’re pretty terrifying, brother.”</p><p>Sam returns his smile. “So are you.” He takes Dean’s hand and holds it tight. “I love you.”</p><p>Smirking, Dean pulls their clasped hands between his legs and places his hand over Sam’s, squeezing lightly.</p><p>Sam rolls his eyes. “Dean,” he says in a tone of amused exasperation.</p><p>“Saaaam,” Dean answers in a parody of his tone.</p><p>“Do you ever stop thinking about it?”</p><p>Dean purses his lips in mock-thoughtfulness. “Sometimes, when I’m unconscious or asleep, maybe.”</p><p>“You know Dad’s just beyond that tree line in the cabin, right?”</p><p>“I know, and maybe that should be weird, but I’m really not thinking about Dad right now.” He looks over his shoulder. The cabin is screened from them by a copse of trees and the clearing is surrounded by thick undergrowth. “Nobody can see us and we could make it quick. We could die tomorrow, Sam. This might be the last time we ever get to do this.”</p><p>Sam rolls his eyes again. “How many times have you used that line on me?”</p><p>“And it’s always true. We’re always about to die tomorrow.”</p><p>Sam laughs in acknowledgement of the truth of that statement. His eyes scan Dean's features, then linger on his mouth. His voice drops lower as he says, “So tell me what you’re thinking about.”</p><p>Dean smirks and rubs Sam’s hand over his crotch. “I’m thinking about you unbuttoning my pants and reaching in and pulling my dick out.”</p><p>“Yeah?” Sam says as he does it, unbuttoning Dean’s pants with one hand and reaching in to free his dick from his underwear. Dean shifts to give him better access, his breathing getting heavier.</p><p>When Sam doesn’t do anything else, just holds his dick in a loose grip, Dean says, “I’m thinking about you stroking me from the base to the tip, doing it slow, then doing that thing you do when you rub your thumb—yeah, <em>that </em>thing,” Dean groans when Sam rubs his thumb just underneath the crown of his dick below the slit.</p><p>“Now stroke me hard, tight and fast. I can be quick.”</p><p>Sam huffs a laugh. There’s a flush building in his cheeks and his breathing is uneven. “You’re always quick, Dean,” he says and starts jerking him off harder.</p><p>Dean groans. “I can—I can outlast you anytime. Jesus, don’t stop. I’m close.”</p><p>“Wasn’t planning to,” Sam says with a laugh and leans over to kiss him, his hand moving faster. Dean can hardly concentrate on kissing him back as he starts to crest into orgasm, his mouth open and jaw loose, breath coming in fast, little pants. He comes all over his stomach and almost falls backwards off the tree trunk, but Sam wraps his other arm around him and steadies him.</p><p>“Like I said, Dean, you’re always quick,” Sam says with a smile and affectionately bites his earlobe.</p><p>Dean groans and takes a steadying breath before he stands up and flicks off the wetness on his stomach, trying to avoid getting it on his pants. “You’ve got an unfair advantage because you can read me so well.” He gives Sam a heated look before he sinks to his knees in front of him. “I’m not psychic, Sammy, but I can read you pretty well too. What’s the bet I can get you off faster than that with my mouth? Just keep an eye out.”</p><p>Sam pushes his hand away when Dean tries to unbutton his pants. “I’m okay, you don’t have to.”</p><p>Dean sits back on his heels. “No, you’re not. You’re hard as a rock. And it’s not because I <em>have </em>to. It fucking kills me to watch you come. Are you just being weird because of dad being here?”</p><p>“I don’t know. Maybe.”</p><p>Dean rubs his hands comfortingly up and down Sam’s thighs. “Do you think the way we love each other is wrong?”</p><p>Sam frowns at him. “You know I don’t.”</p><p>“Then just let me.” Dean strokes his hands higher up Sam’s legs, up to his groin. Sam’s breath stutters when he squeezes his balls, just this side of painful, just the way Sam likes it. “I want you in my mouth, want to taste you.” He leans forward and sucks at the head of Sam’s dick through his pants. “Want you all the time. Love you so much,” he says in a muffled whisper, his head buried between Sam’s legs.</p><p>Sam wraps his hand around the back of his neck, his fingers carding through the hair at the base of Dean’s skull and pulls him closer. Dean unbuttons his pants and goes down on him in one smooth, wet slide, his mouth hungry for it, feeling Sam’s hand tighten on the back of his head. He doesn’t start slow, just sucks Sam hard and fast and squeezes his balls firmly until he comes in his mouth with a choked-off gasp. Dean swallows a lot of it, then turns away to spit out the rest. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and smirks. Sam’s a mess, his wet cock hanging out of his pants, his face flushed and his chest heaving.</p><p>“Told you I could get you off faster.”</p><p>Sam chokes on a laugh, his eyelids still at half-mast, his voice rough when he says, “How are you this annoying when you’re so…” He waves a hand in the air like he’s at a loss for words, his eyes roving over Dean’s face and lingering on his mouth.</p><p>“So adorable and so good at sucking your cock?” Dean offers helpfully.</p><p>Sam snorts a little laugh, his expression softening as he strokes a slow finger across Dean’s cheek. “I will never let anything hurt you.” Dean grabs his hand and kisses the palm. </p><p>Sam smiles, then stiffens suddenly and pulls his hand away, his expression turning alert and his eyes scanning the undergrowth behind Dean. All the hair on the back of Dean's neck raises up. Turning warily, he looks over his shoulder and whispers. “What is it?”</p><p>Sam tucks himself back in and stands up, his expression dark and serious, jaw clenched. “Something.”</p><p>The look on his face makes Dean reach for the axe. He stands next to Sam, waiting and watchful. “Where?”</p><p>“I don’t know,” Sam says, his jaw clenched tight.</p><p>Dean’s about to say something when an enormous stag appears out of the undergrowth not twenty yards from them. His black eyes are on them and his ears are flicking constantly, but he’s brazenly unafraid as he walks slowly into the clearing and sniffs at the wood chips where they were splitting logs. Lifting his head, he gives them a liquid-eyed look. The span of his antlers are the widest Dean has ever seen.</p><p>“Fuck, he’s beautiful,” Dean says in an awed, hushed voice. The stag gives them another long look, then crosses the clearing and disappears between the trees. Both of them let out a pent-up breath. “Do you think he was watching us before,” Dean asks with a laugh. “Maybe he was getting off on our human mating ritual.”</p><p>Sam stares into the gap between the trees where the stag disappeared, then drops his shoulders into a more relaxed pose. “Mating ritual?” he says with arched eyebrows.</p><p>Dean picks up his shirt and puts it back on. “Yeah, I bet you he was impressed by my ability to make you lose it that quickly. That thing he just did there was a salute to my superior skills.”</p><p>With a laugh, Sam punches him lightly on the shoulder. “Shut up.”</p><p>They walk back to the cabin, a pile of logs in their arms, and Dean singing some stupid song he just made up about being the best dick-sucker in the west.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. The ballad of Richard and Eli</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Richard holds his breath. He’s lying flat on his stomach on the rough platform of a hunting shelter, a screen of hewn branches in front of him. He peers between a gap in the branches and watches the hunter’s sons in the clearing a hundred yards ahead of him as they warily scan the trees in his direction. The one called Dean is holding an axe tightly in his hand and the other brother is alert and watchful, a kind of strange, searching energy emanating from him that makes Richard remain absolutely motionless and barely breathing, even though he’s completely hidden behind the screen of branches.</p><p>He sees the stag before they do and watches it move with sure-footed grace through the forest towards the clearing. Even from this distance, its size is impressive. Richard recognizes it as the same elk stag he and Eli were hunting last fall before Eli decided it was too majestic to kill.</p><p>His refusal to kill the stag surprised Richard at the time. Eli has no patience for sentimentality. He was hunting as soon as he could handle a bow, and even as a little boy he was never bothered by the sight of blood and guts. He'd always gut and skin his kills himself rather than leaving it to the servants. But Eli also has a deeply-held respect for beauty and majesty in nature. “It would be an outrage to serve the flesh of that glorious animal at the Emerson dinner table to Dad and the dolts,” he said to Richard when he made his stand against killing it, despite Richard’s mockery.</p><p>The way he said it made Richard view the stag differently, like he was seeing it though Eli’s eyes.</p><p>Sometimes Richard can vicariously experience emotions through Eli, especially his intense response to beauty in nature. Once, when they were young and exploring the forest together, they discovered a waterfall hidden in a gorge of sheer walls of moss-covered rock that reared up around them and enclosed them in cool, green darkness. As they watched the water thundering over the edge of the cliff, Eli reached out and held Richard’s hand, his expression awe-struck. And suddenly it was as if Eli’s exultation at the scene before them transmitted directly to Richard through their clasped hands. Overwhelmed, Richard cried heartfelt tears at feeling something that deeply. Eli tightened his hand and smiled at him, no teasing mockery in his expression, only understanding.</p><p>Richard shakes himself free of distracting thoughts of Eli and shifts on the wooden platform of the hunting shelter, grimacing when it creaks under his weight. He breathes out a slow, relieved breath when he peers through the branches in front of him and sees that the brothers have turned their backs on him because they’re distracted by the stag. Richard watches with the brothers as it walks with lithe grace across the clearing. It’s a breathless moment that Richard feels like he shares with them.</p><p>After it disappears silently between the trees, the brothers collect an armful of logs and head over the hill in the direction of the lake, the older brother singing a song, the words of which Richard can’t hear. Whatever he’s singing about makes the younger brother laugh.</p><p>They must have holed up in the old fishing cabin on the shore of the lake, Richard realizes.</p><p>Luke must have led them to the cabin after he helped the brothers to rescue their father. He hasn’t been seen in the village since the hunter escaped and he’s the only person who would’ve dared to show the brothers where their father was imprisoned. Richard grinds his teeth, remembering how the priest had lied to him and claimed the brothers were his nephews.</p><p>Much as Richard would like the Winchester men to get rid of the demon for them, it irritates him that Luke has become their ally. He feels a deep-seated dislike for the priest. Partly because he despises the clergy in general and has little patience for their hypocrisy and constant sermonizing, but mostly because he finds Luke’s melancholy sensitivity irritating.</p><p>Richard wonders if Father Luke knows what his heroic hunters like to do with each other when they think nobody is watching.</p><p>Getting to his feet, he pats the dirt off his clothes and adjusts himself because he’s still a little hard from watching the brothers pleasure each other. He presses down on his cock with the palm of his hand as images flash in his mind of them touching each other with such easy familiarity, their hands and mouths hot and hard on each other’s bodies. He’s aroused and offended by it equally. They seemed so easy with it, teasing and playful one minute, then aroused and physically intimate the next. It’s unsettling to be confronted with desire like that in others when he’s always thought that he and Eli must be the only brothers in the world to feel that way about each other.</p><p>He leans down and picks up the waterskin and a basket of strawberries he brought with him, then moves aside some of the branches to leap off the wooden platform down to the forest floor.</p><p>Getting his bearings, he heads north and walks another half hour before he reaches his destination. Rowan’s cottage is in the middle of an open glade. There’s smoke curling from the chimney and the climbing rose over the porch is in full, fragrant bloom. She’s standing in the doorway like she was expecting him. Which she was, of course. His old nurse’s intuition doesn’t surprise him anymore.</p><p>“Hello, boy of my heart,” she says with a smile as he approaches her. “What's brought you through the woods to me?”</p><p>Richard hands her the strawberries. “I need some guidance, Rowan. Can you read the bones for me?”</p><p>She pats his shoulder and ushers him into the cottage, eying the waterskin. “What gift have you brought the spirits?”</p><p>Richard passes it to her. “Blood for a divination spell.”</p><p>“Human?” she ask hopefully.</p><p>Richard huffs a laugh. “Bear.”</p><p>Rowan shrugs her shoulders. “That will do.” She places the basket of strawberries on the kitchen table and reaches up to get a copper bowl from the top shelf of a wooden cabinet. Richard sits at the table and watches her collect some of the herbs hanging in drying bunches from the mantel, a few jars of strangely colored crystals, some dried mushrooms, another bowl of mixed bones, and finally the skull of an owl.</p><p>She sits opposite him and removes the black shawl from around her shoulders, hanging it over the back of her chair, then places the various objects in the bowl. “How is that wicked little brother of yours?”</p><p>“Eli’s fine.”</p><p>“And the rest of your god-awful family?”</p><p>Richard shrugs and picks a strawberry from the basket. It’s ripe and bright red. He bites into it, wipes the juice from his lips with the back of his hand, then flicks the stem into the kitchen fire next to him.</p><p>“I’m surprised you and the little imp haven’t already poisoned the lot of them.”</p><p>Richard gives her a dry smile. “Eli is full of cunning murder plans. He's composed a ballad on the theme of patricide and fratricide with a catchy little tune. He tries to make me laugh by humming it at the breakfast table while the others obliviously shovel bacon and sausages down their throats. Honestly, I don't think they’re even worth the effort.”</p><p>Rowan snorts as she places the owl skull on top of the other ingredients in the bowl, pours the bear blood over it and tucks herbs and dried moss over the top. “I once saw your father tie you to a post in the courtyard and force everyone in the household—family and servants alike—to watch as he whipped you until your back was covered in blood. A punishment that should have been Eli’s, but that you took in his stead. You didn’t cry out, not even once.”</p><p>She gives him a fond smile. “You were always such a lionhearted little boy. Let Eli have his way, Richard. Your bastard of a father deserves to die screaming.”</p><p>Richard shrugs. “He’s grown old and corpulent. He can’t walk without a stick and he has weeping, stinking sores covering his legs. Old age and bad living will kill my father slow and painful, exactly the way that he deserves.”</p><p>Rowan chuckles darkly. “I’d like to be there at the end to curse him to his face as he takes his final breath. I’d like to do that in honor of your mother’s memory for all the suffering he put her through, but I’m not sure I will be around that long.”</p><p>Richard looks at her long black hair and the single thick streak of silver at one temple. Her skin is unnaturally smooth. “You'll outlive us all, Rowan.”</p><p>“Not you, Richard. That I know. You will be there at the end with me as I breathe my last.”</p><p>Richard nods, knowing that it makes sense for him to be there when she dies. “You were there when Eli and I came into the world and when my mother left it. It’s right that I should be there for you.”</p><p>She smiles at him and briefly pats his hand. “I know you think you lack feeling, Richard, but the truth is you only have room in your heart for essential things: love and hatred, loyalty and vengeance. They fill you so completely that there’s no room left for petty and trifling emotions. Your mother was that way too. She was a strange, beautiful, incomprehensible creature. Why she loved your beast of a father, I have no idea. The human heart is a mystery.”</p><p>She gives Richard a long look, her black eyes piercing. “Are you here because of Eli? I know he grows stronger every day.”</p><p>Richard looks at the flames dancing behind the grate of the kitchen fire. He says quietly, “He can do incredible things, Rowan. He can make something happen just by thinking it, or by wanting it. Sometimes he doesn’t even know he’s doing it.”</p><p>Rowan lets out a sigh. “Eli has always had his own latent gift, a spark of magic hidden inside him that he inherited through your mother’s bloodline. Some people are that way. The spark is there but hidden. Now the demon blood feeds his gift and he’s transforming.”  </p><p>“Yes, he is,” Richard says quietly. “I don’t think he’s even aware of how strong it’s grown inside him.”</p><p>Rowan nods slowly. “He’s dangerous, Richard. His nature is wild and willful. Be careful you don’t get in the way.”</p><p>Richard leans back in his chair and folds his arms over his chest. “Eli isn’t a danger to me. He loves me with a mad intensity. It’s overwhelming sometimes.”</p><p>Rowan taps the copper bowl with one long fingernail and it makes a light ringing sound. “That’s exactly what I mean. Love and hate and madness live very closely alongside each other in Eli’s heart. If you hurt him or he comes to believe that you’ve betrayed him in some way, his rage will overwhelm his love for you. I’ve read the cards, Richard. They’re not entirely clear, but there’s danger in your future, and it comes from Eli. Have you done something to weaken the bond between you? I sense he’s frustrated and there’s a growing anger in him.” </p><p>Richard clenches his jaw. “He wants something from me that I’m not willing to give.”</p><p>Rowan’s eyes scan his face, her expression thoughtful. “But you want it too?”</p><p>“It’s not natural,” Richard grits out. “I can’t risk ruining him, Rowan. I'm supposed to protect him.”</p><p>“You desire each other,” Rowan says quietly.</p><p>Clenching his teeth, Richard looks away from her and feels a flush heating his cheeks. He stares fixedly at the cabinet in the corner of the kitchen, the shelves of which are filled with jars containing dried herbs and flowers. Something dark and hairy-looking moves slightly in one of the jars and Richard realizes that it’s a large spider.</p><p>“Are you embarrassed?" Rowan says with a laugh. "That’s something I never thought I’d see. You don’t need to be embarrassed with me, Richard. How many times did I accidentally walk in while you were fornicating with some local girl or boy - or both.”</p><p>Richard wipes his forehead. He’s sweating slightly from the heat of the fire. “I haven’t had sex with a human in over a year. Eli is all I think about. It’s like a poison in my veins. And it’s not because of the demon wolf. His presence fuels it, but I’d still feel like this anyway. I don’t know what to do, Rowan. And now there’s another threat facing us. There are hunters here. They’ve come for the demon and they're planning on killing him. It would be a relief to be rid of him but I'm worried about Eli’s safety.”</p><p>Rowan gives him a sympathetic look. “Give me your hands,” she says as she lights the dried herbs and moss in the bowl with a match. White-hot flames flare up, then burn steadily. The stench makes Richard cough for a second. He clears his throat and reaches across the table to take her hands, the bowl burning brightly between them and the smell of herbs and hot blood filling the kitchen.</p><p>Rowan whispers the words of the incantation, soft consonant sounds and sibilant hisses that have always sounded beautiful to Richard’s ear.</p><p>She goes still and her eyes roll upwards, turning the white of boiled eggs. Her voice alters, the words changing into the wild, unearthly sounds of the wind whispering through the trees and river-water running over jagged rocks. The hairs on Richard’s arms rise up and he suppresses a shiver as the kitchen turns darker and he senses the presence of the spirits of the forest shifting in shadow forms around them.</p><p>It grows very cold and he shudders, wishing he’d had a pee before they’d started the divination because his bladder is sitting cold and heavy in his body. His stomach clenches and he tastes bitterness at the back of his throat. Divination spells always affect him physically. He swallows hard, closes his eyes and waits it out.</p><p>The room eventually falls silent and he opens his eyes to bright sunlight. Rowan is slumped forward, her long hair covering her face. The flames in the bowl have died down. Richard loosens his hands from her grip, gets up and searches a cabinet for a glass and the bottle of rot-gut liquor Rowan drinks. He finds it, pours a good inch of it in a glass and brings it back to the table, gently touching her shoulder.</p><p>She takes a deep breath as she comes out of the trance and reaches for the glass, knowing it will be there because they’ve done this together so many times before. Richard pours himself a glass of the amber-colored liquor and grimaces at the taste. “Next time I’m bringing you a couple of bottles of wine.”</p><p>Rowan rolls her eyes. “You can keep your fine wines, Richard. Bring me a deer haunch next time. I’m tired of eating rabbit.”</p><p>Richard sits down opposite her. “What did you see?”</p><p>Rowan swallows the rest of her drink and runs her nail around the edge of the copper bowl, making it sing plaintively. “I saw the wolf with two men either side of him, Eli and the younger hunter who has the gift. Their eyes were black and their hands covered in blood. I saw your body on the altar next to the bodies of the hunter’s brother and father, your hearts ripped out.”</p><p>Richard goes cold and he pours himself another drink, throws it back, then refills his glass.</p><p>Rowan reaches behind her and wraps the shawl over her shoulders. Her skin is sallow and her face drawn. “They’re just shadows of what could be, Richard. It’s one of many possibilities.”</p><p>“I know. How do I stop it? </p><p>“You need to bind Eli to you. The hunter is already bound in love. It grounds him. Together he and Eli could stop the demon, but if Eli turns, it will make the hunter vulnerable. Eli is the key. He’s immune to the hunter’s power because the spark they have inside of them comes from the same source. It’s a dark power, but not the power of the underworld that Azazel controls, something else, something first created when humankind was born violently into the world. The wolf is afraid of it and he wants it for himself, which is why he’s here. He’ll use Eli to overpower the hunter.”</p><p>She gets up and puts more logs on the fire, then returns to the table. “You also need to know that the village is full of demons from the underworld. I saw them out there, mute and silent, waiting in the half-light. The hunters are not expecting them. Despite his arrogant showmanship, Azazel is a crafty one and he’s not unprepared.”</p><p>Richard stares thoughtfully at the fire, processing his thoughts. Eventually he gets to his feet. “Thank you, Rowan. I’ll bring you some fresh meat the next time I come, and some good wine, whether you want it or not.”</p><p>She smiles up at him. “Watch your back, boy of my heart.”</p><p>“I will.”</p><p>He pauses at the doorway and says, “Don’t expect to see me soon, Mother Wisdom,” calling her by the name his own mother always called her. “It may be a while.”</p><p>“I know,” she says with a smile and gets up to poke the fire.</p><p> </p><p><em>You need to bind him to you</em>.</p><p>Rowan's directive echoes in his head as Richard’s booted steps echo on the flagstoned hallway that leads to Eli’s bedroom.</p><p>The door swings open by itself when he gets there. Eli is lying on his bed in his linen underwear, a book in his hand and a glass bowl filled with strawberries at his side, one eyebrow arched and his mouth pursed in a sulky pout. Richard pauses to take in the sight of him lying like a pampered cat against the mound of plush pillows, a bar of light from the window shining on him and picking out the gold in his hair and the wet sheen on his sweet, red lips.</p><p>Eli scowls and throws aside the book. He flicks his fingers and the door slams shut behind Richard. “Where have you been? We were supposed to go riding this morning. I waited for you for hours.” He frowns and sniffs the air, his eyes narrowing. “You smell like blood magic. Have you been sucking from the teat of wisdom again?" he asks sarcastically.</p><p>Instantly riled, Richard stalks over to the bed, grabs him hard by both ankles and drags him to the edge of the mattress, pushing apart Eli's thighs so he can stand between them. The bowl of strawberries slips off the other side of the bed and falls to the floor with a crash. Eli looks up at him, his eyes wide with surprise.</p><p>“I can’t always drop everything I’m doing just because you want to go riding,” Richard says harshly. His heart is beating fast and he feels like his skin is too tight for his body. He wants Eli desperately but now that he’s made the decision to give in to his desire the thought of actually putting his hands on Eli is terrifying.</p><p>Eli lifts himself up on his elbows. “Why do you always go to her without telling me?” he asks plaintively. When Richard doesn’t answer, he jibes cruelly, “Your dependence on that old witch is childish in a man of your age, Richard. She's not our mother.”</p><p>Richard ignores the taunt, knowing it’s just because Eli is possessive and jealous. “Did you go riding on your own?”</p><p>Eli looks up at him grumpily, but his voice is quiet and sincere when he answers, “No, it’s not the same without you.” </p><p>“You don’t need me, Eli. You can do anything you want on your own.”</p><p>“Everything always feels better when you’re feeling it with me,” Eli replies quietly, not meeting Richard’s gaze, his mouth twisted a little.</p><p>Breathing out a sigh, Richard leans forward and runs his hand down Eli’s milk-white chest. He traces the freckles in the shape of the constellation of Orion under his nipple. “I used to bath you when you were little. I already know every inch of your body.” He feels staggered by that thought for a second. Richard bites his lip, then rubs his thumb over the tight brown nub of Eli’s nipple.</p><p>Eli sucks in a startled breath and his eyes dart over Richard's face. Whatever he sees in Richard's expression makes him laugh uncertainly. “Not every inch of my body.”</p><p>Richard knows he’s trying to sound coy and sardonic but he can hear how unsure Eli sounds. He licks his thumb and rubs it over Eli’s nipple again. Eli arches involuntarily under his hand and his mouth drops open. Richard wants to laugh at his expression but he's too busy sharing his brother's stunned disbelief. Eli's nipple gleams with his saliva. His hand is shaking and he tries to steady it. He’s been fighting so hard against his desire for Eli that giving into it feels like he’s struggling out of a suit of armor. He doesn't know whether he’ll be able to free himself from his own self-imposed restraint.</p><p>Eli must see the internal conflict written on his face and says challengingly, “I used to spy on you when you were in the bath and masturbate afterwards, thinking about your naked body.”</p><p>Heat floods through Richard and he huffs a laugh. “Christ, Eli. You’re such a sneaky little imp.”</p><p>“So have you finally come to your senses and given in to the inevitable?”</p><p>“No,” Richard says with another sigh. “I think I’ve finally lost my mind, but you’re right, it is inevitable.” He leans forward and chastely kisses the center of Eli’s chest.</p><p>The touch of his mouth makes Eli moan softly. “Don’t do that. Don’t be gentle with me.”</p><p>“Why not?” Richard licks a wet, hot stripe up Eli’s sternum to his throat, tasting the sweetness of his skin.</p><p>“I don’t think I can bear your gentleness,” Eli whispers, his voice taut and body vibrating with tension. He bares his neck and Richard bites the tight tendon along the side, licking at a small fluttering pulse that starts throbbing under his lips.</p><p>“I’m always gentle with you," Richard murmurs, dropping kisses along the sharp ridge of Eli's collarbone. And for all their rough play, it’s true. Richard never comes close to really hurting him. "No, Eli," he says firmly when Eli takes his hands and tries to force them in a chokehold around his throat, "I'm not doing that.”  </p><p>Eli blinks up at him, his expression tight. “You should hurt me. I deserve it.”</p><p>Richard gives him a fierce look. “I will cut off my own hand before I hurt you.”</p><p>Eli elbows Richard’s arm and pulls him down on the bed, then rolls on top of him. Richard wraps an arm around him, holds him around the waist as he shifts higher up the mattress so he's lying back against the pillows with Eli sprawled over him. Eli settles on top of his body, his sharp hipbones digging into Richard's groin, the hardness of his erection against the softness of Richard’s cock. “You’re not even hard,” he says in an angry whisper.</p><p>“I’ll get hard if you touch me.” Richard shifts Eli off him and tries to guide his hand between his legs. “Touch me. I want you to.”</p><p>Eli pulls his hand away, leans on his elbow and asks in a small voice, “Are we really doing this? You’re not just teasing? I couldn’t bear it, Richard, if you suddenly stopped and laughed at me for believing this is actually real.”</p><p>“I would never do that to you. How could you even think that?”</p><p>Eli gives him a searching look, then swallows hard, his eyes trailing down Richard's body. Richard parts his legs in invitation. He starts breathing very fast when Eli leans forward, unbuttons his pants and slips his hand inside. The feeling of his hand on Richard’s flesh is both alien and deeply familiar at the same time. Somehow it feels like a homecoming after a long time away. He gets hard blindingly fast. “Do it slow, Eli, please. Not rough.”</p><p>Eli strokes his dick with aching tenderness and Richard moans, feeling a flush moving up his chest into his cheeks. His body is hot all over. When Eli leans forward, his expression is nervous and tentative, emotions that Richard hasn’t seen on him for a long time. Richard realizes he’s going to kiss him and his heart leaps in anticipation.</p><p>The softness of Eli’s lips on his and the hot, wet slide of his tongue makes him shudder. Their mouths go hot and hungry instantly, tongues tangling together, their breathing harsh and rough. Richard grips the back of Eli’s head and grinds their mouths together so hard that he tastes the tang of blood, his or Eli’s, he doesn’t know.</p><p>Eli pulls back. He’s breathing raggedly and his expression is full of intense emotion when he says, “I’m going to fuck you so hard and so long you're going to forget the face of every person you've ever fucked before me. We’re going to be in this room for days. I will <em>make</em> you love me as much as I love you.”</p><p>"I love you with my entire being, Eli. I don’t have anything more inside me to give to you.”</p><p>“We’ll see.”</p><p>Richard expects Eli’s eyes to turn black when he uses that firm, fateful tone of voice, but they stay the blue of a hot summer sky.</p><p>“Take off your clothes, Richard. I want to see you.”</p><p>Richard rips off his tunic and undershirt and Eli helps him out of his boots and pants. He lies back against the mound of pillows and lets Eli look at him, eyes roving over his naked body hungrily like he’s planning on devouring him whole. Richard’s dick twitches. He’s leaking against his stomach. A tingle of something that might be apprehension prickles in his chest. He wants this with a kind of mad desperation but he’s scared of it too. He feels like he’s on the precipice of something momentous that will change him forever. It won’t just be sex; it will be a binding spell. If he lets Eli inside him, that will be it, he will never be free again. Eli will own him, body and soul.</p><p>“Your body is as hard as steel. So strong, so impenetrable,” Eli says wonderingly, his hands stroking Richard’s legs. “I want to get underneath your hard metal skin so I can see you on the inside where you hide yourself from me.”   </p><p>Richard bends his knees and lets his legs fall open. “Do it. I'm not hiding anything from you. I want you inside me.”</p><p>Eli’s breath stutters and his hand shakes a little when he sucks on his fingers and covers them with spit. He reaches forward and rubs Richard’s hole, circling gently, then pushing a little harder until the tip of one finger is just inside him. Richard groans and throws his head back, eyes falling shut. Eli presses harder until his finger is sheathed inside Richard up to the second knuckle.</p><p>“Fuck,” Richard groans. It’s like being penetrated for the first time. He’s had sex with countless men and women - an endless succession of naked bodies and mouths and cunts and cocks - but it’s never felt like this. He can feel Eli’s love settling on his skin like hot sunlight and sinking into him.</p><p>There’s a sudden vibration in the room like an earth tremor. Richard opens his eyes and blinks at the burning blue of Eli’s eyes. They’re flashing with sapphire fire. The bedside table suddenly collapses with a broken crash and Eli looks at it with mild surprise before carefully pulling his finger out of Richard’s body.</p><p>“Try not to destroy the furniture, little brother," Richard says with a dry laugh. "And I actually like my body intact so don’t do power tricks like that while you’ve got your finger inside me.”</p><p>"Sometimes I don't know I'm doing it," Eli says with a frown, before his lips lift in a wicked grin. He gives Richard a coy look, then flexes his hands and holds them out in front of him, focussing on the velvet tasselled cords that tie back the thick curtains of his four-poster bed. The cords loosen and fall on the bed, then snake across the mattress and wrap themselves around Richard’s wrists. His arms are jerked above his head as they tie themselves to the bed-posts.</p><p>“Stop showing off," Richard says with a laugh. He tries to pull loose but he’s bound too tightly. "You know I can't touch you if you have me trussed up like this, right?”</p><p>The cords instantly drop loose and Eli falls forward on top of Richard’s body. “Well, we definitely can’t have that, Richard.” He presses soft kisses against Richard’s lips. Richard runs his hands down Eli’s back to the firm swell of his buttocks and molds their hips together. Eli thrusts against him, the rough linen of his underwear a soft abrasion against Richard’s bare skin. Richard hums with pleasure at the feeling of their cocks lining up against each other. Eli matches his rhythm when he starts moving his hips.</p><p>“Take this off,” Richard says and impatiently plucks at Eli’s linen underwear.</p><p>Eli sits up and strips off his underwear. His cock arches up hard between his legs. His pubic hair is the color of ripening corn silk. He looks across the room, stretches out his hand and flicks his fingers slightly. The drawer of the oak dresser in the corner of the room slides open and a bottle of oil flies out of it into his outstretched hand. “Open your legs,” he says, turning back to Richard, his eyes starting to burn a brighter blue.</p><p>Richard’s breath gets caught in his throat. He spreads his thighs and Eli settles between them, then slicks up his fingers and slides one into Richard’s body, then another. Richard is vaguely embarrassed by the sound that spills from his mouth. He arches his hips and Eli presses deeper inside him, spreading his fingers wider, then bending them to rub against the gland that makes Richard’s cock twitch and blurt wetness from the slit.  </p><p>“I didn’t think it would be like this,” Eli says in a hoarse voice.</p><p>Richard looks at him with incomprehension, his mouth dropping open on a groan as Eli slides his slicked fingers in and out of him. “What?” he asks on a broken moan.</p><p>“I thought you would lose control eventually and just take me roughly, maybe out in the barn or in the woods against a tree. I thought you would pull down my pants and take me from the back, hard and forceful. That’s how I pictured it.” Eli’s fingers gently explore the inside of Richard’s body, in counterpoint to what he’s saying.</p><p>“Is that how you wanted it to happen?” Richard asks with a frown, his body tensing. </p><p>“No,” Eli replies softly and rubs Richard’s stomach with his free hand, the fingers of his other hand stilling inside him. “I didn’t want it to happen like that. I don’t ever want you to fuck me in a fit of rage, hating yourself, hating me. This is what I want. I just didn’t expect it.”</p><p>“I could never hate you, Eli. I love you.”</p><p>“I love you too.” Eli slicks up his cock and leans forward. “I love you more than anything else.” He holds his cock and feeds himself slowly into Richard’s body.</p><p>“Oh, god,” Richard moans as Eli fills him, and it’s as if everything else disappears as they start moving together. All Richard can see and feel is Eli. He’s everywhere, around him and inside him. Richard’s filled with such intense emotion, and for the first time in his life that cold, dead core he can always sense inside him melts away. Something strong and powerful and alive pours out of Eli directly into him, and instead of feeling like he’s binding himself in servitude to Eli, he feels liberated. Closing his eyes, he loses himself in an ocean of pleasure and love and a sublime response to being alive. He’s connected directly to Eli’s wild and wondrous response to the world around him.</p><p>As Eli starts to come, Richard hears the sound of the large, gilded mirror near the door suddenly falling off the wall and crashing to the floor. It's followed by all the heavy paintings hanging on the walls. Eli thrusts into him, deep and hard, his breath caught on a ragged moan. The metal curtain rails collapse and sunlight suddenly bursts through the room. Richard arches his back as Eli throbs inside him, feeling something locking into place between them. His orgasm rocks through his body and he hears Eli groan loudly as his body tightens down on Eli’s cock inside him.</p><p>Eli collapses on top of him and breathes heavily in his ear. Eventually, he says, “You really are a stubborn bastard. Just think how much time we’ve wasted not doing this.”</p><p>Richard laughs and turns his head to kiss Eli’s cheek. He grimaces as Eli pulls out, then collapses on his back next to him. Richard regains awareness of his own physicality: the jittery feeling in his muscles, the ache in his ass, the pain in his shoulder where Eli savagely bit him as he came. He grunts in discomfort and stretches out his legs, then lifts his head and surveys the absolute chaos of the room. “Jesus, Eli, you totally destroyed the room.”</p><p>Eli half opens one eye and mumbles something that suggests he couldn’t care less.</p><p>There’s suddenly a loud knocking at the door. Both of them sit upright. Eli narrows his eyes and the knocking instantly stops. There’s a sound of somebody moaning in pain behind the door, then running footsteps down the passage.</p><p>“Who was it?” Richard asks. He frowns when he sees a trickle of blood running out of Eli’s nose. Leaning forward, he takes hold of Eli's chin so he can wipe the blood away with a corner of the sheet. “Why are you bleeding?”</p><p>“One of the dolts,” Eli answers his first question with a mischievous grin. “He just had a sudden attack of diarrhea and trotted down the passage with shit running down his legs.” He pushes Richard’s hand aside when he tries to dab away another drop of blood hanging at the end of his nose. “It’s fine, Richard. It happens sometimes.”</p><p>“You can do that?” Richard asks, his eyebrows raised. “Make somebody literally shit themselves?”</p><p>Eli shrugs his shoulders and lies down again. Richard places his hand over Eli’s heart and leans over him. “You’ve been hiding the full extent of your power from me, haven't you?”</p><p>Eli looks up at him, his eyes a translucent blue in the golden light from the window. “I didn’t want you to worry, or—”</p><p>“Or what?”</p><p>Eli looks away. “Or feel afraid of me.”</p><p>Richard places a finger on his jaw and turns Eli’s head towards him. “I’m not afraid of you, Eli. I know you’re no danger to me.”</p><p>Eli smiles up at him and repeats Richard’s earlier words. “I will cut off my own hand before hurting you.”</p><p>He says it with such quiet, fierce conviction that Richard leans forward and kisses him. “I know,” he replies quietly. He leans back against the pillows and pulls Eli closer, wrapping an arm around him. Eli nestles against his shoulder. “One of the hunter’s sons is like you, Eli. He has the same gift. The two of you can defeat Azazel. Your strength combined with his.”</p><p>Eli lifts his head. “Rowan told you that?”</p><p>Richard nods. “We can get rid of him for good. The demon will have no claim on our souls.”</p><p>Eli kisses his chest. “He can’t have what we’ve already given to each other.”</p><p>Richard smiles and ruffles Eli’s hair.</p><p>Eli looks thoughtful. “What if they turn on us afterwards? The hunter has a very black and white way of viewing things. I felt that in him when we threw him in the dungeon. Dad and the dolts won’t like it either.”</p><p>“Then we will kill them all,” Richard says quietly.</p><p>Eli nods and lays his head back on Richard’s shoulder. “Love you.”</p><p>“Love you too,” Richard echoes.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>At some point I would love to write an old-fashioned murder ballad about sinful Eli and his besotted soulless brother, Richard, with a rhyme scheme and a proper rhythm, and a chorus that includes Eli's jaunty little refrain about 'incest, patricide, fratricide' but right now I don't have the energy for rhyme and meter :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Five years later</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Luke</strong>
</p><p>“What happened to you, my son? How did you get like this?”</p><p>Luke shifts his gaze away from the fire and focuses his attention on the old priest sitting opposite him. He’s watching him with an expression of sympathetic curiosity. “What made you choose this lonely and dangerous existence over the conventional life of the priesthood?”</p><p>Grimacing slightly, Luke reaches for the glass of whiskey on the small table next to him. The movement pulls at the stitches in the wound on his left side and makes his bruised shoulder ache. He’d forgotten his injuries for a moment, lost in a reverie as he stared into the fire. The armchair he’s sitting on is old and battered, the brocaded cushions thin and the underlying wooden frame hard against his bruised body.</p><p>He drinks the whiskey in one long swallow, feeling the burn in his throat and the comforting warmth spreading through his aching body.</p><p>The old priest gets up and fetches the bottle from an antique sideboard in a corner of the cozily cluttered living-room. He pours Luke another glass, moves the side table closer to his chair and leaves the bottle within easy reach. Settling into his own armchair, he crosses his arms and rests them on his paunch - plump and round under his thick cassock. His blue eyes are soft and sympathetic as he watches Luke, waiting patiently for him to open up, or not, leaving it up to him.</p><p>“I haven’t abandoned the priesthood,” Luke counters. “I’m still doing God’s work.”</p><p>The priest gives him a steady look. “You killed a man today.”</p><p>Luke returns to his contemplation of the fire. “He isn't the first, and he won't be the last.”</p><p>“Some would say that only God should choose who lives and who dies. The man you killed was a well-respected man of the law. Don’t you feel any remorse?”</p><p>“His social position means nothing to me,” Luke says with a dry laugh. “God gave us free will, Father Jacob. Your local justice of the peace said yes to a demon and he paid the price for that choice with his life. We are at war with a dark enemy, and there will always be casualties in times of war. I made the decision to kill one person in order to save the life of another, an innocent bystander that your well-respected man of the law was willing to murder in order to escape. I promised myself a long time ago that I would act decisively and without hesitation. Do I feel remorse for ending a man’s life? No, I don’t. Not anymore, not for a long time now. I did what was right. I am no longer haunted by the faces of dead men who have made the wrong choices.” </p><p>Father Jacob’s eyes narrow. “How much whiskey do you need to drink every night to rid yourself of those faces from your nightmares?”</p><p>Luke laughs dryly at the old priest’s insight. “It’s the price I pay for the life I have chosen to live. Nothing comes without a price.”</p><p>An old ginger cat comes into the room and leaps clumsily up onto Father Jacob’s lap, kneads his round belly for a minute, then curls into a furry, purring ball. The priest strokes the cat gently. “I can’t pretend to understand what it must be like to have to make those decisions but I know you would have preferred to exorcise the demon rather than kill the man. You were placed in a difficult position. I don’t think I could have pulled that trigger myself but I understand why you did it. Who taught you how to exorcise demons?”</p><p>“A man called John Winchester.”</p><p>“A man of the cloth?”</p><p>Luke laughs dryly. “Not exactly. But he’s certainly a man of great conviction and purpose. A soldier in the battle against evil.”</p><p>“How did you meet him?”</p><p>Luke looks at Father Jacob. His unruly white hair forms a halo around his face and his eyes sparkle with gentle intelligence. He has an open, attentive, non-judgmental manner that makes Luke want to open up to him, to tell him everything, to confess and be forgiven for the sins that weigh so heavily upon him. For all his bold talk of decisive action, every mistake he’s made and every life he’s taken over the past five years since he left home is a burden that he carries like a cross on his back.</p><p>“I was a simple village priest like you…” he begins, then falters and lapses into silence.</p><p>“Go on, Luke. I’m listening. You need to unburden yourself. My job as a confessor is not to judge or condemn, only to listen.”      </p><p>Luke settles more comfortably in a position that doesn’t put too much weight on his bruised and wounded side. “I was good at my job, never much of an orator in the pulpit, but I cared about the people of my village and they trusted me. Then a demon came.”</p><p>Father Jacob nods. He leans over and pours himself a glass of whiskey from the bottle. “What did you do?”</p><p>“Nothing,” Luke replies bitterly. “I was weak and afraid. I stood by as darkness spread through the village and infected the people I loved. The demon targeted a local, land-owning family called the Emersons, who grew bold and cruel with the demon’s power. There were rituals in the forest—”</p><p>His voice breaks as he’s flooded with terrible, horrifying memories and bites his lip until he tastes blood in his mouth. Father Jacob takes another sip of his whiskey and strokes the purring cat in his lap, giving him time to pull himself together.</p><p>“It went on for over a year and then John Winchester arrived. He’d been chasing the demon for a long time. I thought to myself—finally, here is a man who can save us from this darkness, a man of courage and conviction sent to us by God.”</p><p>“But things didn’t go to plan?”</p><p>“When do they ever,” Luke says with a sigh. “John was ambushed by the Emersons and imprisoned.”</p><p>“You rescued him?”</p><p>Luke smiles bitterly. “No. I made the decision to leave the village, to run away in the middle of the night and abandon John and all those people I was supposed to care about to a terrible fate.”</p><p>Father Jacob looks at him with sympathy. “I see. So you still feel shame and that’s what drives you now, the need to atone for your cowardice in the past?”</p><p>“Yes. I suppose that’s part of it.”</p><p>“Shame can be a powerful motivator to become a better, stronger person, but be careful of allowing wrath to take its place. There’s a fine line between justice and just violence for the sake of it. Are you sure that what you do now is motivated by the desire to save people, or by the need to constantly prove yourself?”</p><p>“Are any of us ever motivated purely by noble impulses?”</p><p>The old priest holds his gaze. “All right, there’s truth in that. All of us are driven to some extent by ego, but those of us chosen for a life of service to others have to ward ourselves more vigilantly against personal pride and ambition.”</p><p>Luke looks away from the priest’s bright and penetrating scrutiny. The fire has died down. He gets up and throws a few more logs onto the hot coals.</p><p>“So what happened? Did John Winchester escape?”</p><p>Luke gingerly sits down again, holding his arm close against his body to alleviate the ache in his shoulder.</p><p>“His sons arrived in the village a few days later. Sam and Dean. Like John, they’re hunters, men who have dedicated their lives to fighting supernatural evil. They coerced me into helping them to rescue their father, shamed me into it, really. I was so wrapped up in my own fear but something about their youthful conviction struck a chord in me and made me remember what it was like to feel that kind of fire inside you. Afterwards, we hid in an old abandoned fishing cabin just outside of the village and plotted how to kill the demon. John had a gun with him that legend said could kill a demon as ancient and powerful as the one we were up against. The plan was to ambush the demon during a ritual on the night of the full moon. It was the demon’s practice to wound himself during these unholy rituals and allow his acolytes to drink his blood. We hoped this would weaken him.”</p><p>Father Jacob’s eyes widen with dismay. “Such terrible things!”</p><p>“Yes,” Luke agrees. “The things of nightmares, and they happen everywhere around us, hidden in the shadows.”</p><p>Father Jacob sighs and cradles the cat closer. “And again things didn’t go to plan?”</p><p>Before Luke can answer, there’s a soft knock on the door and the young novice priest who shares the house with Father Jacob sticks his head around the door. “Dinner’s ready,” he says cheerily.</p><p>“Ah, thank you, brother. Bring it in. I’ll lay the table.” Father Jacob gives Luke a small half-smile as he pushes the cat off his lap and gets to his feet. “To be continued after dinner.”</p><p>The young priest joins them for the meal and Luke listens to the two priests discuss their work and the people in the village. It’s comforting to hear conversation about everyday things. It’s been a long time since he was in an environment like this. A small part of him still misses it, but mostly he feels removed from them, like they’re talking a foreign language he doesn’t understand anymore. He’s no longer the same man he was six years ago when his own life was consumed by the daily activity of the priesthood.       </p><p>After dinner the young priest clears the table and leaves them alone. They go back to the pair of armchairs in front of the fireplace. “Will you continue your story?” Father Jacob asks Luke, pouring him another glass of whiskey.</p><p>The whiskey and good meal have relaxed him and he feels almost eager to talk about what happened that night.</p><p>“The night of the full moon finally arrived. John and I joined the procession of about twenty men who made their way from the village into the forest. They were cloaked and hooded so it was easy enough for us to blend in. Sam and Dean were hidden in the forest, armed and waiting. John had the colt with him. The ritual began. There’s a—there’s a perverse sexual element to it before the human sacrifice.”</p><p>Father Jacob raises his eyebrows but doesn’t say anything.</p><p>“The time for us to act finally came when the demon seemed weakened enough by blood loss. John made himself known to the demon, but the moment he trained the gun on him, the acolytes threw back their hoods and revealed themselves. They were possessed. All of them.”</p><p>“Good lord,” Father Jacob exclaims and crosses himself.</p><p>“He’d anticipated our attack and was prepared.”</p><p>“What happened?”</p><p>“Before the acolytes were able to subdue him, John managed to get off a shot, but as he did, the demon grabbed one of the Emerson brothers and shielded himself. The bullet went through the Emerson brother’s chest, killing him, and wounding the demon behind him.” Luke shivers as he remembers the sound of somebody screaming in anguish as the demon threw the dead body to the side. It’s a sound he still hears in his nightmares. He assumes it must have been one of the other Emersons wailing in despair at his loss. Who would’ve thought that any of those heartless men could feel that strongly about somebody else.</p><p>“Somebody hit me over the head at that point and I blacked out. From what I saw later, there was a wild and bloody fight. The Winchesters against all those possessed men and the Emersons and the demon. Four of the Emerson brothers and their father were killed, as well as five of the possessed villagers. I’ve never seen anything like it. The brutal carnage of that scene is permanently seared into my mind. So much wasted life bleeding into the forest floor.”</p><p>“And the Winchesters?”</p><p>“They survived, wounded and bleeding, but alive. I was told that Sam managed to subdue the demon with the help of one of the Emerson brothers, who must have had a sudden crisis of conscience.”</p><p>“And the demon? It managed to escape?”</p><p>“John Winchester put a bullet between his yellow eyes exactly as he had promised.”</p><p>Father Jacob frowns. “But that was also a man. A human being. A man who was still there, conscious and aware the whole time while the demon was possessing him. Can you justify that to yourself?”</p><p>“There was no need for justification that night. Azazel was in his demonic form. An eight foot tall demon-wolf. The old demons can walk among us and don’t need to possess a human body to manifest here in our world.”</p><p>Father Jacob blinks a couple of times and crosses himself again.</p><p>“It’s a war, Jacob. One that’s at our doorstep.”</p><p>Father Jacob stares into the fire for a few minutes, then looks back at Luke. “Yes, I understand now. What you do is a holy crusade. From what you’ve said and what I saw today, we clearly need warrior priests to protect humanity from the insidious influence of evil.” He looks at Luke sadly. “But it seems a terribly lonely and dangerous life. Do you still miss home and the more innocent duties of the priesthood?”</p><p>“My final act as the village priest was to marry John Winchester to a woman from my village. It gave me great joy to bind the two of them together and to see a man like that settle down after a lifetime of fighting and suffering. The demon murdered his first wife, the mother of his two sons. What happened that night in the forest was an act of justice.”</p><p>“It troubles you, though, the loss of innocent life and you carry that burden very heavily.”</p><p>“Yes,” Luke replies quietly.</p><p>“Then receive absolution, Luke.”</p><p>Luke grimaces. “What if I’m not deserving of absolution.”</p><p>“You are deserving. Pray with me, Luke. It’s why you’re here. Let me ease your burden.”</p><p>It’s been a long time since he prayed. The act of sinking to his knees in front of Jacob’s chair is a relief and a homecoming. He speaks the words of confession and contrition, is assigned his penance and Father Jacob imparts absolution. “Let justice and mercy guide your actions in everything that you do,” Father Jacobs says as he gets to his feet.</p><p>“Thank you, father.”</p><p>Father Jacob stands up and places a gentle hand on Luke’s shoulder. “Look after yourself out there, my son. And drink less whiskey. Numbing yourself in that way will harden you too much. To feel is a necessary part of being human.”</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>That night Luke sleeps easier than he has in years, his dreams blessedly free of blood and violence. He leaves the next day with a lighter heart, conviction and a sense of purpose burning like a steady flame within him.</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <strong>Richard and Eli</strong>
</p><p>The chandelier above Richard glitters like cut diamonds. There are more diamonds in his hand, a full flush of red, a winning hand. He’s been on a streak all night and two of the men he’s playing cards with have started giving him murderous glances. He’s already won a small fortune off each of them. The threat of violence shimmers in the air.</p><p>Richard smiles to himself when he picks up the next card that completes the suit in his hand. As Eli so often says, he really does have the luck of the devil. With an arched eyebrow, he asks the three men at the table, “Raise the stakes?”</p><p>The card player sitting to Richard’s left snorts in disgust and throws his cards on the table. “Only a man in league with the devil could have such luck. I’m out.” </p><p>The player to Richard’s right shifts in his seat, then places an ivory-handled pocket pistol on the table, his finger in the trigger guard. “Nobody’s that lucky. You’re cheating,” he hisses.</p><p>“Boy,” the third player sitting opposite Richard says in a baritone drawl, “if the stakes are too high for you, then leave the table. We tire of your whining. Run back to your rich daddy to restore your lost fortune and allow the men to continue the game.”</p><p>The younger man surges to his feet. “How dare you, Beaumont. You know who I am. I won’t be spoken to like that.”</p><p>The man called Beaumont looks up at him coldly, the corner of his top lip curling in a sneer. “You’re a spoilt little boy out of your league. Leave now before I put you over my knee and give you the thrashing your indulgent father should have given you years ago.”</p><p>Richard snorts an amused laugh. The younger man’s cheeks flush angrily and his hand tightens on the gun. The sound of the piano dies away and all eyes in the room turn toward them. The younger man looks around, then swallows hard. In an attempt to restore his lost dignity, he snarls, “You will regret this, Beaumont.”</p><p>“I doubt it,” the other man replies in dismissal and coolly picks up his cards.</p><p>The pianist starts to play again and murmured conversations resume when the young man stalks out of the room in humiliation. Richard scans the elegant bar room filled with wealthy patrons, many of them travelers from faraway places to this river-port city. Eli is lounging indolently on a divan on the other side of the room, watching him with an amused expression. A pair of beautiful women dressed in fashionable silk sit either side of him. He says something to them and they tinkle with laughter, their expressions captivated. </p><p>Eli has taken off his dress coat in the sweltering heat and his white shirt gapes open, revealing his pale chest and a glimpse of his nipple. One of the women leans forward and whispers something in his ear as she lightly strokes a finger down his sternum. Eli’s eyes remain on Richard and he gives him an impish look before licking his lips suggestively. Richard suppresses a smile.</p><p>“So what did you have in mind, Mr. Emerson?”</p><p>Richard turns his attention back to the man sitting opposite him.</p><p>“In terms of raising the stakes?”</p><p>“You know why I’m here, Beaumont,” Richard replies coolly and takes a sip of his drink.</p><p>The other man arches a black eyebrow and gives him a slow smile. The color of his eyes shift and darken. His features are hard and sharp, a face of cruel lines and harsh planes. His hair is pitch black and matches the dark velvet of his dress coat. “If you’re here for that, then you also know it’s not you who plays with the luck of the devil on his side.”</p><p>“But you play fairly and it remains a game of chance?”</p><p>The other man inclines his head in assent.</p><p>“Then let’s play.”</p><p>“All right, but know that it’s your own choosing. A contract you enter into of your own free will and there’s no backing out of it.”</p><p>Richard nods. “I understand the rules.”</p><p>“Come with me,” Beaumont says, standing up. “There’s a more private room upstairs away from prying eyes.”</p><p>Richard gives Eli a quick glance across the room and Eli nods back at him.</p><p>Beaumont leads him up a grand staircase into a parlour on the second floor. There’s a round mahogany table at the center of the room and a liquor cabinet against one wall. On top of the cabinet is a silver ice bucket containing a couple of bottles of champagne. “Drink?” Beaumont asks him, pouring a glass of champagne into a crystal glass.</p><p>“I’ll have a whiskey, thank you.”</p><p>Richard opens the heavy red drapes and the French doors behind them. He steps out onto a small balcony enclosed by a wrought-iron railing of an intricate pattern, typical of many buildings in the city. It’s completely private and nobody can see into the room with the doors open. He looks down. It’s about a twelve foot drop. There’s a path below that leads through the hotel gardens down to the river. He takes a deep breath of the humid air and smells jasmine and the pervasive scent of the river.</p><p>“Cigar?” Beaumont offers when Richard goes back into the room and sits down opposite him at the table. </p><p>Richard shakes his head. Beaumont lights a cigar and the rich smell fills the room. He deals the cards and they begin to play. Neither of them speak. The hum of conversation from the hotel bar downstairs and the muffled sound of the piano drifts up to them though the open French doors.</p><p>“Do you play for more time with that pretty little male consort of yours downstairs?” Beaumont eventually asks him.</p><p>Richard smiles but says nothing.</p><p>“Beautiful boys will be your downfall, Mr. Emerson.”</p><p>“Probably,” Richard agrees.</p><p>“It’s your heart, isn’t it?”</p><p>Richard glances up from his cards. “How did you know that?”</p><p>Beaumont places the cigar in a crystal ashtray and drains the champagne in his glass before taking another card from the deck. “I can hear it beating sluggishly in your chest. You’re sick.”</p><p>Richard discards a card, then leans back in his chair. “You have acute senses, even for a demon.”</p><p>Beaumont shrugs. “One of my many skills. Is he worth it?”</p><p>“Oh yes,” Richard replies quietly. “He’s definitely worth it.”</p><p>“It’s no picnic down there, you know. Only torture and eternal damnation.”</p><p>“I know.” Richard gives him a long look. “You seem overly concerned about the fate of my soul for a demon that barters in them. Shouldn’t you be trying to sell the deal to me. That’s what you are, after all, just a trader.”</p><p>“I have a soft spot for those of you who do it for love. The others who play for wealth and power deserve what they get. He’ll leave you anyway, eventually.”</p><p>“No, he won’t,” Richard answers. “He’ll never leave me. He would die in my place if he could.”</p><p>Beaumont shrugs. “If you win, I can give you more time with him but I can’t heal your heart. That’s beyond my power. The physical pain you’re in won’t go away. Why prolong your suffering?”</p><p>“Because more time with him is worth the pain.”</p><p>Beaumont lays down his hand. “I pity your foolishness. Really, I do. Your boy will soon be in another man’s bed while you writhe in agony in the underworld.”</p><p>Richard gives him a small smile as he looks at Beaumont’s cards. It’s a good hand but not good enough. He lays down his own cards and Beaumont arches his eyebrows in surprise. “Well played, Mr. Emerson. I’m impressed. I so rarely lose. Maybe you do have the luck of some wayward devil. Tell me what I can do for you in exchange for your soul. Ten years is the going rate.”</p><p>Over Beaumont’s shoulder, Richard sees the door open and then close silently as Eli glides into the room like a stealthy, deadly assassin. “You misunderstand the situation, Beaumont,” Richard says. “We’re not here to barter with you.”</p><p>Eli chuckles and Beaumont’s eyes turn black as he leaps to his feet and turns to face the very real threat he senses behind him. He puts out his hand when he sees Eli, and even from six feet away Richard feels the blast of power that comes from him. It barely even ruffles Eli’s hair.</p><p>“What are you?” Beaumont asks, his voice sharp with surprise and sudden fear.</p><p>Eli smirks and narrows his eyes, then throws Beaumont across the room with an invisible force that pins him hard against the wall.</p><p>“You see, it’s like this,” Richard says conversationally, watching Beaumont struggle like a pinned butterfly against the wall, “five years ago I was shot in the chest. It was a clean shot, through and through, but the bullet nicked my heart and it would have killed me eventually if I hadn’t been so chock-full of demon blood. All that demonic power kept me alive and I recuperated slowly—”</p><p>“<em>So</em> slowly,” Eli cuts in, grabbing the bottle of champagne out of the ice bucket and making himself comfortable in Beaumont’s chair with his feet up on the table. He drinks straight from the bottle and relights Beaumont’s cigar. “Really, it was a very long time,” he says, puffing at the cigar. “We were holed up in a witch’s cottage in the woods. It was terrible. Drying bones and stinking herbs and crawling spiders everywhere. Ghosts in every corner.”</p><p>Richard gives him an irritated look for interrupting his narrative. Eli grins at him and blows him a cigar-cloudy kiss in apology.</p><p>“Unfortunately,” Richard continues, “the demonic power doesn’t last and I need a regular transfusion of demon blood to keep my heart beating. Fortunately, there are enough of your kind walking among us and using your crafty demon wiles to try and get us to bargain away our souls for useless gifts. You and your kind, Beaumont, you think we’re fodder for your infernal machine downstairs but actually you’re the lambs to the slaughter.”</p><p>Eli laughs and Beaumont struggles harder, a little puff of black smoke escaping his mouth. Eli flicks a finger and Beaumont’s lips seal tighter together, his face turning a dark purple. He makes a muffled sound of distress. Eli gives Richard a coy look and flicks his finger again. Deep slits appear in Beaumont’s neck and blood starts pouring out of them and seeping into the white collar of his shirt above the dark velvet of his jacket.</p><p>“Thirsty?” Eli asks Richard with a smile.</p><p>It’s a very particular smell, the smell of demon blood. Richard feels his nostrils flaring. Eli’s eyes glitter a cold sapphire blue. “Drink, Richard. You go first. I know you’re hurting.”</p><p>He doesn’t wait to be told again, crosses the room and latches onto Beaumont’s throat, sucking hard. The metallic taste of blood is thick and acrid in his mouth. It slides down his throat and he feels heat spreading through his body and starting up the sluggish, painful rhythm of his heart. Eli joins him and sucks at the other side of Beaumont’s neck, his mouth greedy. Eli needs it in a way that is different to Richard’s need. For Richard it’s about survival; for Eli it’s about a need to feed the hungry source of power inside him.</p><p>They drink and drink until Beaumont’s body thrashes between them, convulses a couple of times, then stills.</p><p>The body falls to the floor and they turn to give each other wet, bloody kisses. Richard pushes Eli up against the wall, his body thrumming with blood-hot power, another need building inside him as he starts to harden. The demon blood rushes through his veins and he feels demonic energy infecting every cell inside him like a dark shadow spreading through him. The sound of the piano downstairs distorts into dark and discordant echoes. </p><p>In between desperate kisses, Eli rips off his shirt and stretches his neck to the side, offering Richard his neck. Puncture marks appear in his skin and Richard watches as twin beads of bright red blood well from them. He can smell the power in Eli's blood. Leaning forward, he licks Eli's skin, moaning when he tastes the wild, magical flavor of his brother’s power. Eli echoes his moan as he pushes closer, his hands clenching around Richard's hips. His hair is soft and thick hair between Richard's fingers when he holds Eli's head in place and starts to suck at his neck. Eli bucks against him. Richard drops his hands and holds Eli's hips in place, grinds against him and sucks harder. </p><p>It’s like being cleansed on the inside; the clean, sweet taste of Eli that counteracts the terrible darkness that fills Richard whenever he drinks demon blood. It soothes his black, beating heart and clears his vision of all those hideous shadows. The music of the piano turns into the sounds of rushing rivers and heavy hooves beating hard against the forest floor.</p><p>Richard pulls away and draws in a long, desperate breath, then leans back in and kisses Eli fiercely. Eli sucks on his tongue and starts struggling out of his pants. Richard helps him, then rips open his own pants and frees himself. He lifts Eli against the wall, wraps his legs around his waist and sinks into the heat of his brother’s body in one smooth, easy movement of his hips. “You prepared yourself,” he breathes into Eli’s neck.</p><p>“I know how you get afterwards,” Eli answers with a groan, arching his back and starting to thrust. Richard holds him up against the wall and lets Eli ride him, tries to kiss him, but mostly just breathes into his open mouth.</p><p>Eli comes first, his fingernails digging into Richard’s back as he coats their stomachs with his release. Richard holds him through it, then pulls him closer and thrusts slow and deep inside him, making him moan. He loves Eli like this, when he’s so pliant and lost in sensation. He shudders his own release into Eli’s body, softly sucking his neck, the tiny droplets of blood still oozing from Eli’s skin tasting like wild honey.</p><p>Eli kisses Richard’s cheek before untangling his legs from around his waist. Richard lowers him to his feet and smiles when Eli walks over to the table and drinks from the bottle of champagne. He looks like some marble statue come to life, naked and decadent and perfectly formed, his skin like alabaster. He holds out the bottle and Richard goes over and lets him pour champagne into his mouth. It runs down his chin and throat, and Eli chases the trickles with his tongue.</p><p>The champagne is crisp and cold in Richard’s mouth. It tastes like faraway countries where the grapes are grown in cool, fresh climates near pine forests. Eli’s tongue is a heated contrast against his skin. He savors the moment and keenly-felt sensations, powered partly by the demon blood, but mostly by the wild power in Eli’s blood. He knows the pain in his chest will return, but right now he allows himself to enjoy pain-free pleasure.</p><p>There’s a streak of blood along Eli’s jaw and Richard licks it away before gently kissing his forehead. He pushes him away and smacks him on the butt just because he likes to see Eli’s white skin marked by his hand. Eli winces and gives him a long-suffering look. “Have you thought about how we’re going to get him out of here,” he asks, glancing at the body on the floor.</p><p>“Don’t I always have a plan?” Richard replies, pulling on his clothes. “We can dump him over the balcony. There’s a path down to the river.”  While Eli gets dressed, he pulls down one of the heavy drapes and lays it on the floor. Eli helps him roll Beaumont’s body in it and they tie the ends like a shroud.</p><p>After they tidy the room, Eli goes downstairs to check that the way is clear. On his signal, Richard throws the body over the balcony and hears it hit the ground with a thump. Richard joins him outside and they carry the body down to the river, weigh it down with rocks and throw it into the water. It sinks slowly and disappears.</p><p>There’s a swing seat on a little hill overlooking the river. They sit in it and watch the moon rise, passing another bottle of champagne between them, Eli curled under Richard’s arm. The moon turns the color of bone as it makes its way across the dark and velvety sky. Stars sparkle like scattered diamonds. There’s a light breeze coming off the water, easing the heat of the night.</p><p>“You really know to romance a boy, Richard,” Eli says with amusement.</p><p>Richard snorts a laugh. He tightens his arm around Eli’s shoulders and drops a kiss on his golden head. “I know you like champagne and moonlight after a murder and body dump, little brother.”</p><p>Eli chuckles. He threads their fingers together and raises their clasped hands to kiss Richard’s knuckles. “How’s your heart?”</p><p>“Fine. No pain at all,” Richard lies. The niggling ache in his heart is there again, like a rat gnawing at something in his chest.</p><p>“Rumor says there’s a black-magic priestess who runs card nights on a river boat where a man can play a hand and gamble his soul for his heart’s desire. Could be a demon.”</p><p>“Mmm,” Richard murmurs, too lazily contented in the moment to think too hard about the future. “Could be worth checking out.”</p><p>Eli shifts onto Richard’s lap and holds Richard’s face in his hands. “I will never let you leave me.”</p><p>Richard smiles at how Eli can make a declaration of love sound like a threat. He kisses his brother’s soft mouth. “I’m not going anywhere, Eli.”</p><p>“That rich society girl I was with tonight said a pair of brothers caused havoc in a town further up the river a couple of weeks ago. Bodies starting turning up with stakes in their chests. Some of them missing their heads.”</p><p>“Vampires.”</p><p>“Mm,” Eli agrees.</p><p>“Do you think they’ll ever come after us?”</p><p>“They owe us. Sam Winchester couldn’t have subdued Azazel without my help that night in the forest. We saved their lives and helped them get revenge for their mother’s death. That’s not something they’ll forget in a hurry.”</p><p>Richard adds dryly, “And we’re basically doing their jobs for them by killing demons. We’re practically hunters ourselves.”</p><p>“I’m not sure they’d see it that way,” Eli says with a small laugh.</p><p>“They’re so self-righteous. If I hadn’t been bleeding half to death, I would've taken a swing at Dean that night. His condescending warnings really irritated the shit out of me. Anyway, you could definitely beat Sam in a fair fight.”</p><p>“I don’t know, he’s very powerful.” With a smirk, Eli adds, “And good looking. Bet you he looks really pretty when he’s all flushed and sweaty with his brother’s cock buried inside him.”</p><p>“Oh <em>Dean</em>, give it to me harder,” Richard says in a moaning parody.</p><p>Eli laughs.</p><p>“Want to get something to eat?” Richard asks when his stomach growls. Eli nods and gets off his lap.</p><p>They stand up and Eli pulls him down into a kiss, his hand tight in the nape of Richard’s neck. “I’ll never let anything hurt you, Richard.”</p><p>“I know,” Richard answers and puts his arm over Eli’s shoulders as they walk down the winding path that leads to the busy waterfront lined with hotels and restaurants. The sound of music is rich and alive in the warm air.</p><p>The moonlight glitters on the river and Richard thinks to himself, ‘This is what happiness feels like.’  </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>John and Kate and Adam</strong>
</p><p>John twists and writhes in a sweaty nightmare that transports him back in time to the forest on the night of the full moon when everything came full circle and he faced Azazel for the final time. </p><p>He has the colt trained on Azazel and is surrounded by black-eyed villagers. In a split-second, he manages to pull the trigger, focused solely on that single action, not caring what might happen to him afterwards, his own safety of no importance.</p><p>The despair is overwhelming when Azazel wrenches the body of another man in front of him and the bullet pierces the wrong chest. Somebody off to the side screams, a sound of deep agony and desolation. It’s followed immediately by a wolfy howl of pain and John knows he’s wounded Azazel. He struggles hard against the crowd of villagers on top of him, raining kicks and blows on his body.</p><p>He’s aware of somebody else leaping into the middle of the fray. Dean. They fight off the possessed men and John manages to get to his feet, the colt gripped tightly in his hand.  </p><p>The sight that meets his eyes astounds him. He stands there awestruck for a second, watching as Sam and Eli Emerson hold Azazel in a ball of white light. He’s up on the altar, struggling against the sparking, crackling forcefield around him, his feet lifting off the altar as he’s raised into the air. Blood streams from Sam’s nose and the Emerson boy’s face is contorted in pain.</p><p>It goes on for what feels like an eternity. Sam and the Emerson boy begin to tire. Azazel howls and the ball of light begins to crack, then disappears. Azazel’s feet touch down on the altar. He snarls viciously, his muzzle dripping with spittle, blood pouring from a black wound on his shoulder. He points his clawed paws at Sam and the Emerson boy, and they’re thrown backwards.</p><p>There’s a moment then, a moment of suspended time as Azazel becomes aware of John standing with the colt aimed at him. He smiles and nods slightly in the exact moment that the bullet leaves the barrel. John smiles in return. It’s a clean shot. Right between the eyes. The force knocks Azazel off the altar and his body lands on the forest floor with a loud whump, then lies there, still and unmoving.</p><p>John laughs with bitter victory as a hard ball of pain and grief and rage begins to dissolve inside him.</p><p> </p><p>“John, wake up. You’re dreaming.”</p><p>He comes out of it quickly, his body stiffening as he reaches instinctively under his pillow for the gun that isn’t there.</p><p>“John, it’s all right. You’re home.”</p><p>He relaxes as reality starts to reassert itself and he realizes where he is. “Sorry,” he says and pulls Kate close to him. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Did I scare you?” He kisses the top of her head as his heartbeat slows down to a normal pace.</p><p>She wraps her arms around him. “No, it’s all right,” she whispers quietly. “You haven’t had one of those for a long time.”</p><p>He turns on his side and looks at her in the pale morning light. Her hair is a cloud of blonde around her lovely face and her mouth is sleep-softened. He’s so grateful to wake up to her warm, strong presence that he feels overwhelmed for a moment. She smiles at him. “You okay?”</p><p>He nods and leans forward to kiss her. She opens to him instantly, always so responsive and loving in the early morning. He places his hand in the small of her back and draws her up against his body. Wrapping her leg over his hip, she presses her groin against his, making a soft sound of arousal. John lowers his hand and clenches the roundness of her buttock through the thin, worn linen of her nightdress. She’s bare underneath it.</p><p>She rocks against him, getting him hard, then rolls on top of him and sits up to straddle his hips. His breath catches when she pulls off her nightdress and smiles down at him. He smiles back and cups her breasts, then wraps one hand around the back of her neck so he can pull her forward into a kiss, his other hand pushing down his underwear.</p><p>Both of them groan quietly when she lowers herself onto him, taking him into her warm, soft body. He matches her rhythm as she starts moving, strokes her breasts and admires the strong, pale line of her throat when she throws her head back in pleasure. He moves his hand down to where their bodies are joined and rubs the hard little nub of flesh between her legs until she arches her back and comes with a soft cry, the contractions of her body sending him over the edge.</p><p>When she’s caught her breath, she lies down next to him, her head on his shoulder and her thigh snugged between his. He strokes her back and hair and watches the sky lighten through the window. A cockerel crows outside and they hear Adam downstairs in the kitchen.</p><p>“Are you going to clear the area around the back of the house for another vegetable plot today?”</p><p>“Yes,” John answers. “Adam’s going to do the heavy work, though. Yesterday he called me an old man when I couldn’t keep up with him cutting down that big oak tree.”</p><p>Kate laughs. “You <em>are </em>an old man,” she says in a teasing voice.       </p><p>John rolls on top of her and pins her arms above her head. “Who’re you calling an old man,” he asks gruffly, rubbing his stubble against the softness of her neck. She laughs and squirms beneath him. He lowers his head and sucks her nipple into his mouth, using his teeth to stimulate it into hardness. Kate groans quietly and arches her back. He looks up and gives her a mischievous grin, asks, “Want to go again?” as he nudges his hips forward.</p><p>She laughs. “Oh, now you’re just showing off, John Winchester.”</p><p>“Just proving to you I’m no old man, Kate Winchester.”</p><p>She laughs again. “I’ve got things to do. I can’t roll around in bed with you all day.” She rubs her hand over his face when he tries to give her a sulky pout, then gets out of bed. “No need to get up yet, John. Rest a little. I’ll bring you some coffee in bed, old man.”</p><p>She laughs and dances out of the way when he throws a pillow at her.</p><p>John lies back and listens to her talking to Adam downstairs in the kitchen. Adam starts whistling a jaunty tune when he goes outside and draws water from the well, clanking the old chain that lowers the pail into the water. His heart aches as he remembers the way Mary used to sing in the kitchen, but it’s a dull ache, or rather an echo of an ache that used to engulf him constantly. Thoughts of Mary lead to thoughts of the boys. He worries about them but he’s not blind to his own hypocrisy. They’re strong and unfailingly loyal to each other. They have what they need in each other.</p><p>He smells bacon frying and his stomach rumbles. ‘This is what contentment feels like,’ he thinks, before getting out of bed with a smile.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Five years later: Sam and Dean (or 'Sam & Dean Take a Vacation')</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dean’s bored. It’s a new feeling for him so it takes him a couple of days to realize it and to name it as boredom.</p><p>Except describing himself as bored doesn't feel like the whole truth. He's restless, that's true, and sometimes there's this strange, irritating buzz under his skin, but he's also genuinely happy. How can he be both happy <em>and</em> bored?</p><p>For once in their lives everything feels good and right. Over the past week since they've been here he's experienced moments of perfect contentment. Like the moment when he opens his eyes in the morning and sees golden sunlight slanting through the room and feels Sam’s warm body pressed against him, waking up lazily aroused and with nothing more pressing on his mind than the desire to stroke Sam awake and feel him come alive under his hands.</p><p>There have been a lot of moments like that over the past week—here, in this safe place where the sun seems to shine all the time and evil is like a dark and distant echo of thunder.</p><p>But still, the truth is that he's also bored, and his boredom worries him because he thinks maybe he has become the kind of person who doesn’t want to feel safe and content. The kind of person who can’t stay in one place and just <em>be</em> happy.</p><p>Sam, of course, never gets bored because he has some kind of weird inner stillness. It’s why he can keep watch for hours at a time without suffering the phantom itches and muscle cramps that drive Dean crazy whenever he has to stay still in one place. It’s probably because Sam has such a complicated interior life. He has a big brain. He’s always thinking, or lost in some kind of reverie, or transported somewhere else by his visions and waking dreams.</p><p>Dean hates being in his own head. There’s nothing in there that he wants to examine too closely or spend too long with.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re bored,” Sam says to him over a late breakfast. Their plates are heaped with fresh things from the village market: eggs, smoked bacon, fried potatoes and cornbread. It's warm and cosy in the cabin. An intermittent breeze stirs the curtains. It's a perfect day.</p><p>“No, I’m not.” </p><p>Sam narrows his eyes.</p><p>“I’m not bored, Sam.” He obviously doesn’t pull off the fake expression because Sam looks unconvinced. Putting a little more teeth into his smile, he says, “I’m relaxed and content. See, this is my contented face.”</p><p>“No, Dean, that’s your lying face.”</p><p>“Pfft,” Dean scoffs. “Like you can tell when I’m lying.”</p><p>“I can always tell when you’re lying.” </p><p>“Okay. Three questions. You ask me any three questions and tell me if I’m lying or not. Let’s put a bet on it.”</p><p>It’s a sign of his restlessness that he feels the need to turn everything into a wager. He kept doing it yesterday when they were down at the lake - challenging Sam to see who could dive off the highest point on the cliff; who could swim the fastest to the little island in the middle; who could get the most skims out of a stone on the water. The wager was normally for some sexual favor. By the end of the afternoon Sam owed him enough blowjobs to last Dean a lifetime.</p><p>“Fine,” Sam agrees. “Three questions, but I’m not playing for sexual favors or stupid public humiliations.”</p><p>Dean laughs. Last night Sam lost a game of cards to him in the tavern. As a forfeit for losing, Dean made him stand up on a table in the middle of the crowded room and sing an old drinking song from home. Sam was a little drunk and he couldn’t really remember the words, or the tune, and he’s a mediocre vocalist at the best of times. Dean snorted beer out of his nose he laughed so hard.</p><p>“Okay, Sam, what are the stakes then?”</p><p>“You lose, you wash the dishes and clean the whole cabin.”</p><p>Dean raises his eyebrows mockingly. Sam is so lame at coming up with forfeits for losing bets. Years of teaching him by example when they were kids obviously had no effect on him.</p><p>“Naked,” Sam adds craftily. “Wearing only the straw hat that old woman jammed on your head yesterday at the lake <em>to protect your handsome face from sunburn</em>, as she put it.”</p><p>Dean laughs. Maybe Sam did learn something from him, after all. “Okay, forfeit’s the same if you lose. You might as well start stripping. You forget how good I am at playing poker.”</p><p>Sam gives him a cool, confident smile. “Here are the rules. Two of your answers have to be lies and one has to be the truth.”</p><p>“Fine, let’s go.” Dean shoves a final piece of bacon in his mouth before pushing his plate aside and popping his knuckles in anticipation, cocky grin in place.</p><p>“First question, then. Do you want to have sex with that pretty barmaid from the tavern?”</p><p>Dean’s grin fades. “You know I don’t do that anymore, Sam. I haven’t for a really long time now.”</p><p>“I know,” Sam answers, his expression serious, no accusation in his tone. “What I’m asking is do you want to, not whether you actually would. Have you thought about it?”</p><p>Dean weighs up his options and decides all’s fair in love and war, even if his answer might hurt Sam’s feelings. “Okay, yeah, I have thought about it. She’s pretty and really eager, but thinking is not the same thing as doing.”</p><p>Sam considers his expression for a few seconds. Dean can’t help flushing a little at the lie. He’s hoping Sam will interpret it as shame.</p><p>“That’s a lie, Dean. You flirt with her and leer at her cleavage, but you aren't sexually attracted to her. It’s just pretense because you’re trying to fit in and appear normal when we’re around other people. You do it because what you’re actually thinking about is dragging me back here so you can fuck me against a wall.”   </p><p>Dean grins in surprise. He thought the embarrassed fake-sincerity might have thrown Sam. “Okay, you’re right. And because that’s exactly what happened last night, I guess I gave it away. One to you. C’mon, next question.” He takes a swallow of his coffee and prepares himself.</p><p>“Are you sexually attracted to Kate?”</p><p>Dean flushes red. “Jesus, Sam, is every question going to be about sex?!”</p><p>Sam looks at him patiently. “So are you?”</p><p>“No!” Dean splutters. “That’s weird. She’s dad’s <em>wife</em>. Dad has sex with her, which is a weird enough thought as it is. Why the hell would I ever have thoughts like that about her?”</p><p>Sam gives him an amused look. “That’s a lie, Dean.”</p><p>“Fuck you, Sam,” he replies with a huff.</p><p>Sam smiles at him tolerantly. “Kate’s strong and generous and she looks after other people without being a martyr about it. You admire that. She bakes you cakes and doesn’t take crap from you. She challenges you when you say something she doesn’t agree with and she laughs at your jokes. There’s nothing weird about feeling attracted to her.”</p><p>Dean runs a hand roughly through his hair. “I had the weirdest sex dream about her the last time we were there. I couldn’t even look her in the eye the next morning.”</p><p>Sam’s lips twitch. Dean points a finger at him. “Stop laughing at me.”</p><p>“I can’t help it,” Sam says with a laugh. “Anyway, I win. Two out of three and the next one would have to be the truth anyway, so start cleaning.”</p><p>“Double or nothing,”</p><p>Sam sighs.</p><p>“C’mon, double or nothing.” Dean takes another sip of his tepid coffee. He’s not going to let Sam win with his crafty little mind games.</p><p>“Did you really swap my rocking horse for a knife that Jacob Huckabee stole from his older brother?”</p><p>Dean raises his eyebrows heavenward. “What? How the hell do you hold onto things for so long! Yes, I did. You can’t still hold that against me.”</p><p>Sam smiles patiently, then shakes his head. “That’s a lie, Dean.”</p><p>“No, it isn’t.”</p><p>“It was a lie then and you’re lying now. You gave it to Emily Abbot, that nasty little girl who pushed me in the river.”</p><p>Dean sits back in his chair, defeated. A twenty year old lie and Sam knew this whole time. “Okay, so it's a lie. And yeah, she was mean to you. But she was such an angry little kid because she didn’t have any toys and had like a hundred siblings and two horrible parents who ignored her. And you’d outgrown the damn thing anyway.”</p><p>“Why didn’t you just tell me that at the time?”</p><p>“Because.” When Sam scans his face, Dean gets that feeling, the one he gets when Sam looks at him like he’s seeing into the secret places of his heart. He's vaguely embarrassed by his own sentimentality. Emily Abbott was an evil little kid. When he gave her Sam's rocking horse, she kicked him in the shins and ran away with it, laughing. But he couldn't help pitying her. “Just because, Sam. How did you know it was a lie?”</p><p>“Because you changed the story and told me you broke it accidentally and that dad used it for firewood. You said I should stop crying about it because keeping warm in winter was more important than broken toys.”</p><p>“Both of those things are true. You know Dad would definitely have used your favorite toy for firewood if he had to.”</p><p>“You wouldn’t.”</p><p>“Yeah, I would.”</p><p>“That’s a lie, Dean,” Sam says quietly. “You’d give it to another kid who had no toys but you wouldn’t use it for firewood. That’s too cold and practical. That’s dad, not you.”</p><p>Dean grimaces. When did this game stop being funny. Sam probably doesn’t mean it as an insult, but the implication is that he makes decisions based on emotion and not practicality, which is not true, or at least not always true.</p><p>“This is the last question and you’ve run out of lies, Dean. Rules of the game. Are you bored? Here and now, with me, like this. Are you bored?”</p><p>Dean sighs. How does Sam always manage to flip the tables on him like this. He gives him a long, serious look. “No and yes.”</p><p>Sam nods, like he understands perfectly how it can be both. His hazel eyes are sympathetic and a small frown creases his forehead. Dean drums the side of his coffee cup with restless fingers. “I want you to be safe and I want you to wake up in the morning nightmare-free and lazy and horny. I want us to not sleep on the hard ground outside when it’s cold or on flea-infested mattresses in shitty taverns. I want to feel happy, here, like this. But I also want—” Dean tightens his hands around his coffee cup. “I’m not bored, Sam. I’m just fucking itching to kill something.”</p><p>Sam smiles wryly as he looks in the direction of the larder where dozens of dead rabbits and game birds are hanging. “You’ve done a lot of killing the past few days.”</p><p>“You know what I mean.”</p><p>“I do,” Sam says with another nod. He stares into his cup for a few minutes, then looks up. “I also know I won the game. Take off your clothes.”</p><p>Dean gives him an irritated look. He guesses they’re not going to talk about it. Not that he wants to. He really doesn’t. But he’s also annoyed that Sam just shut down the conversation that quickly when he was the one who brought all this up in the first place. Gritting his teeth, he stands up abruptly and scrapes his chair back with a loud screech. “You think I’ve become too bloodthirsty.” Pulling off his shirt, he throws it behind him, half aroused by Sam’s eyes on him and half irritated by his calm, knowing expression. “You think I can’t be happy staying still in one place.”</p><p>“No,” Sam says quietly, “that’s what you think.”</p><p>Dean realizes Sam’s been playing him, that probably the whole point of this stupid game was to make him admit his feelings out loud. He <em>is</em> too bloodthirsty. That's exactly his problem. And it's why he's feeling bored when any normal person would be feeling happy. Angry at being manipulated, he strips off his pants and stands naked under Sam’s calm eyes, feeling exposed in a way that has nothing to do with being naked. “I threw the hat away,” he says aggressively. </p><p>“I rescued it,” Sam says with a smile. “It’s in the bedroom.”</p><p>Dean comes back into the living room with the hat jammed on his head, butt naked and feeling foolish. Sam has moved over to the shabby old couch near the window and is reading a book. He looks up and doesn’t laugh at the sight of him, just gives him a small smile, which irritates Dean even more.</p><p>Trust Sam to turn a simple game into something else. This is what he always does. He scratches at the surfaces of things without you noticing, then burrows in and starts chipping at something underneath the surface that you’d hidden away, without even knowing you’d hidden it away in the first place.</p><p>“You should start in the kitchen. Those birds are getting ripe.”</p><p>Grumbling under his breath, Dean does as he’s told.</p><p>He plucks and guts the pheasants, then hacks and chops the meat, doing it loudly and with too much force. It makes him feel calmer. Sam doesn’t look at him, just continues reading quietly. It’s some occult book he got from somebody down south. Dean sweeps and washes the floors. Makes a pot of soup. He stops thinking about anything else and focuses on cleaning and tidying and clearing up. It’s satisfying and calming, makes the itch under his skin disappear.   </p><p>When he’s finally done, he goes outside, throws the hat aside and washes himself clean in a bucket of ice-cold water in the yard. Sam comes out and sits in one of the chairs on the porch, watching him. Dean doesn’t get dressed afterwards. Nakedness is kind of the point of this, he realizes.</p><p>After wiping himself mostly dry with a ragged cloth, he joins Sam on the porch. Sam offers him one of the glasses of beer he brought out with him. Dean sits back against the wooden railing, hoping he’s not going to end up with splinters in his butt, crosses his legs and drinks the beer gratefully. He’s thirsty. Draining the glass, he sets it aside and gives Sam a long look. Sam returns his gaze, open and attentive and waiting.</p><p>“I think I got a little carried away with all that hacking and bludgeoning of those vampires.”</p><p>Sam nods, but doesn’t say anything.</p><p>“I enjoyed it too much. Or I don’t know, <em>enjoy</em> is not quite the right word. I guess we’d just been out on the road for too long and when I saw what they did to that family and those kids, I just lost it a little. Caleb said to me a long time ago that tolerance and empathy are important when you live like this, otherwise we become too hardened and too vengeful. I guess I lost perspective.”</p><p>Sam smiles understandingly at him. “You just need a little time away from it, Dean. That’s all.”</p><p>“I guess before there was a purpose, you know. Clear goals. Find dad. Kill Azazel. It was grounding. And now I’m not sure what the purpose is. Is it to kill everything evil that crosses our path?”</p><p>Sam gives him a small smile. “I think it’s supposed to be about us helping and saving as many people as we can.”</p><p>Dean laughs self-deprecatingly. “Oh yeah, <em>that</em>.”</p><p>Sam laughs with him.</p><p>“You’re better than me at keeping focused on the reason why we’re out here doing this. You’ve always been smarter than me, Sam.”</p><p>Sam shakes his head. “Dean, I nearly set that whole village on fire a year ago. You stopped me. And you were the one who encouraged me to use my power to expel the demons and save the people they were possessing. You’re smart. Caleb trained you because he knew you were worthy of it.”</p><p>“I guess I just forget myself sometimes. And I’m not good at all this—" He gestures with his hand to encompass the peaceful woods around them, the still air, the reddening light as sunset approaches. “All this quietness and self-reflection. I don’t like spending too much time with myself, which is why I lose sight of him, that person I’m meant to be. It’s different for me than it is for you. You’re always responsible to your gift. You can’t ever forget yourself.”</p><p>“Dean, you don’t need the gift. You’re just… <em>you</em>.”</p><p>He says it with such quiet and genuine admiration that Dean kind of feels like a god among men for a moment. Sam always makes him feel like that, and he guesses that’s the main reason why he tries to be better than what he is. It’s because he wants to be worthy of Sam’s perception of him.</p><p>“If you want to stay here and settle down, I’d do that for you. It would be hard at first but if that’s what you want, I’d get used to it. We could become farmers or something.”</p><p>“Farmers?” Sam says with a huffed laugh.</p><p>Dean gives him a wry smile. “Yeah, you know, milking goats, getting the soil under our fingernails and living off the land, an honest life.”</p><p>“Dean, you don’t even remember how to milk a goat.”</p><p>Dean cups his crotch, smirking. “I’m pretty good with my hands. I’m sure it would come back to me, pulling and tugging like that.” He strokes his dick a little to prove his point.</p><p>Sam laughs and runs his eyes down Dean’s naked body. “You are good with your hands,” he murmurs softly.</p><p>Dean hardens a little, but ignores the flutter of arousal in his groin and crosses his arms over his chest. “Or we could go back home, or maybe settle down near Dad and Kate and Adam.” He’s serious about it. Or at least he is in this exact moment. If that’s what Sam wants, he’d work out a way to deal with it. </p><p>Sam’s lips twitch. “What? And have you lusting after Kate all the time?” He laughs when Dean gives him a pained look, then grows serious again. “I don’t want to be a farmer, Dean, and neither do you. And I don’t want to settle down here or back home or live near to Dad either. We’re doing what we’re meant to be doing. I just want to spend a couple more weeks here. Both of us need it. I want to wake up late and have long, slow sex with you in the morning. I want to have leisurely breakfasts at midday, and swim for hours in the warm water of the lake, and let you beat me at cards in the tavern, then come back here afterwards and let you fuck me roughly against the wall because you’re full of beer and full of your own little successes after beating me at a hundred stupid wagers and challenges all day.” </p><p>Dean huffs a laugh and raises his eyebrows. “Now <em>that’s</em> a lie. You never let me beat you at cards. I beat you fair and square every time.”</p><p>“Okay, that was a lie, but everything else is true.”</p><p>Sam’s sincere expressions really are ridiculously sincere. Dean smiles at him. “Thanks for keeping me honest.”</p><p>“You do it for me too, Dean. All the time.”</p><p>The breeze is picking up a little and Dean feels goosebumps prickling his naked skin. “You know you owe me about a hundred sexual favors, right? I think you should probably start trying to work your way through some of them.”</p><p>Sam rolls his eyes and tightens his lips to suppress a smile. His gaze travels down Dean's body and his expression shifts from tolerant amusement to arousal, his eyes darkening, lips parting and a faint flush appearing along his cheekbones. Dean’s hands tighten around the wooden railing when Sam sinks to his knees in front of him. He buries his face in Dean's crotch and nuzzles him gently.</p><p>Sam looks up at him as he gently takes Dean's stiffening cock into his mouth, eyes wide and bright with emotion, open and trusting. Closing his eyes, he sucks Dean into full hardness, keeps sucking, slow and so good, moving up and down Dean’s shaft with firm lips and tight pressure. Dean watches him, getting off as much on the expression on Sam face as he does on physical sensation. Sam is lost in it. His face looks softened, vulnerable, full of desire.</p><p>Cradling Sam’s head in his hands, Dean wonders for a moment at this person who has been at his side for most of his life. This person who is filled with a strange, magical power and who could destroy him in an instant, but who chooses to be tolerant and patient with him, and who looks up to him, even when he doesn’t always deserve it.    </p><p>Sam’s hair has grown long and it feels so soft between Dean's fingers. He tries not to pull too hard as he gets closer and closer to climaxing. Sam's mouth is so hot and wet, his tongue smooth and strong, moving constantly. Dean's fingers tighten reflexively in Sam's hair when he does tip over the edge and comes in Sam's mouth, his body flooding with heated pleasure, feeling it everywhere.</p><p>Sam’s eyes are slightly glazed when he pulls back, dreamy-looking, like he just woke up, cheekbones flushed and his hair tousled. Pulling him to his feet, Dean kisses him deep and tastes himself in Sam’s hot mouth. His fingers are clumsy when he opens Sam’s pants and pulls out his hard dick. He jerks him slow, watching him, keeping eye contact until Sam’s eyes gleam with gold as he comes with a small cry.</p><p>They kiss some more, mouths lazy and loving on each other, then pull apart. Dean drops another kiss on Sam’s forehead. “Want to go to the tavern? It’s the big poker game tonight and that rich farmer has put up a grey gelding as part of the winnings. You could read the other players’ minds. Oh come on, Sam. Just this once. It’s a beautiful horse,” he adds persuasively when Sam rolls his eyes.</p><p>Sam shakes his head and gives him another look of amused tolerance. He never uses his gift for ‘underhand’ purposes, as he likes to call it.  </p><p> </p><p>It’s a Saturday night and the tavern is bustling and rowdy when they get there. The regulars are friendly, buying them beer and teaching them some of the local drinking songs. Dean watches Sam laughing and warbling off key with two burly farmers. They have their arms thrown over his shoulders and they’re swaying in that way that drunk people do when they’re singing together.</p><p>Sam’s smile is about the most beautiful thing Dean has ever seen and he thinks to himself that it doesn’t matter where he is, just as long as he gets to see that smile and hear the sound of Sam’s laughter, then he really could be happy anywhere.</p><p> </p><p>They get another week of lazy happiness before Sam’s dreams grow darker.</p><p>He dreams that he’s standing on a hill and watching a great battle raging on a vast plain below him. The sound is deafening. He can feel the thunder of horses’ hooves vibrating through the ground beneath his feet and can hear the clanging of swords as they strike each other, metal on metal. There’s a roar of voices raised in the cry of battle and the screams of men as they die.</p><p>The two armies are unevenly matched and Sam watches as the smaller army inevitably loses ground and is pushed back.</p><p>Then he’s not just watching the battle, but is in the middle of it, hacking his way through the soldiers around him, the smell of blood sharp and acrid in his nose and throat, his heart pounding in his chest.</p><p>Out of the chaos, a warrior appears in front of him, tall and powerful, in blue battle-dress, his eyes flashing a brighter blue, and an enormous sword in his hand that glints the color of gold in the stark sunlight. He reminds Sam of Dean. He doesn’t want to fight him but knows that he must.</p><p>It’s over quickly. He doesn’t stand a chance against the greater strength and skill of the warrior. He’s beaten efficiently to the ground, and as he lies there on the blood-stained battlefield, he thinks, ‘This is how I die.’</p><p>Then he’s falling down through the ground beneath him, falling further and further through a black void, down and down, until he hits a hard stone floor. The pain in his body is immense, as if his bones all shattered when he hit the ground. Screaming in agony, he rolls over onto his side and heaves in desperate breaths of air.</p><p>Eventually, the pain subsides and he struggles into a sitting position to take in his surroundings. He’s in a dungeon. He tries to reassure himself with the idea that he will be all right because he can endure isolation in the dark. He’s like his dad in that way. Unlike Dean, who has literal ants in his pants. That makes him laugh and it echoes back at him off the walls. An incongruous sound in such a terrible place.</p><p>“Sam, you’re dreaming.”</p><p>He wakes up with Dean leaning over him. “You all right? You were laughing in your sleep but it didn’t sound like a happy laugh. Actually, it made my blood run cold there for a second.”</p><p>Sam props himself up on one elbow and notices that it’s raining outside. The windows are open and the breeze is warm, bringing with it the smell of rich, wet earth. It’s the first time it’s rained since they’ve been here.</p><p>“Want some coffee?”</p><p>Sam lets out a needy groan of assent and Dean laughs at him before getting out of bed, then bringing back two steaming cups and slipping back under the covers. “What were you dreaming about?”</p><p>The memory of the dream is already fading. “Something about a war. Then two brothers, I think, fighting each other. Then something else about being imprisoned in a dungeon.”</p><p>Dean’s propped against the wall, sipping his coffee. He raises an eyebrow. “That doesn’t sound particularly funny.”</p><p>Sam shrugs. “I can’t remember what I was laughing at.”</p><p>Dean finishes his coffee and places the cup on the floor. Turning on his side, he slots his cold feet between Sam’s calves. “I guess there’s no reason to get up. It’s raining. Might as well just stay in bed.” Sam murmurs his agreement. He’s still tired and could easily go back to sleep.</p><p>“Want me to read to you?” Dean asks him.</p><p>They’ve always read aloud to each other. It’s a simple pleasure they’ve shared since they were kids. “Yeah, but not the occult book. Something with a story.” Dean rummages through a pile of books next to the bed, then lies back with one that’s bound in faded leather. Sam shifts closer to him and puts his head on Dean’s pillow. He closes his eyes when Dean starts to read, just allowing the sound of his voice to wash over him. He’s always loved the sound of Dean’s voice.</p><p>He’s not really concentrating on trying to make sense of the story. It’s something about an epic journey and then a war, which makes him remember his dream. He drifts off to sleep to the comforting drone of his brother’s voice, thinking about the warrior with the blue eyes and the golden sword.</p><p>Sam dreams he’s falling through the earth, falling further and further through a black void, down and down, until he finally hits water. The currents conspire to keep him under but he eventually manages to struggle up to the surface so he can drag in desperate breaths.</p><p>The air is thick with smoke and a sulphurous smell. Looking around him, he notices that it’s not water he’s fallen into, but fire, a lake of liquid fire that rolls and churns and forms huge waves that crash against a dark beach visible ahead of him. Beyond the beach is an open plain, a dismal wasteland, fire everywhere and yet no light comes from those flames, only darkness.</p><p>He swims against the churning currents and drags himself up onto the beach, then lurches to his feet. He’s filled with horror at the desolation that surrounds him. It’s a place without hope or peace.</p><p>Feelings of intense hatred and vengeance surge up inside him because he doesn’t deserve this. Shaking out his wings, he feels them arch powerfully behind him. Despite the wounds that were inflicted on his body during the battle, he feels strong and whole. The black sand is hot beneath his bare feet. He crosses the beach and stands on a dune, looking out across the endless plain before him. Across that black desert are the gates that will lead him out of here and into another world. He knows it exists, knows the stories are real. And then his father will pay for doing this to him. </p><p>Sam jerks out of the dream suddenly, his heart rabbiting in his chest. The bed is empty next to him and he can hear Dean chopping logs outside. Sunlight streams in through the window and the sky is now clear and blue. Knowing the dream is an omen, he rolls over and wraps a pillow around his head. “Not yet,” he groans. “Just give me a little while longer.”</p><p>He tries to ignore the dream, doesn’t tell Dean about it and pretends to himself he doesn’t feel a sense of imminent threat. He endures it for another two days as the dreams become more intense and vivid and detailed. He dreams of a terrible journey through a dark and burning world, the black gates that lead out of it looming ahead of him.</p><p>What bothers him most is that the dreams feel so personal, as do the feelings of rage and injustice that boil inside him.</p><p> </p><p>“Something’s coming.”</p><p>Dean looks up from his breakfast and gives him a small smile. “I was wondering how long it would take before you broke. You’ve been having nightmares for three nights already. What is it? Do you know?”</p><p>Sam shakes his head. He has the strangest feeling for a second that it’s not <em>something else</em>, but that it’s him out there, that some dark version of himself is travelling through the desert to meet him.</p><p>“So it’s time to go?”</p><p>Sam can hear a slight undertone of regret in Dean’s voice, but mostly he’s gleaming with anticipation and excitement. He’s clenching his fists a little as if preparing himself physically for a fight. Sam smiles at him. Despite a feeling of fear in the pit of his stomach, he feels the same leap of excitement and readiness.</p><p>He looks around the cabin. This was only ever going to be a brief, golden reprieve. This not their lives. Their lives are out there, on the road.</p><p>His power shifts and moves inside him like a lean predator flexing its muscles as it comes out of hibernation.</p><p>“Yeah, Dean, it’s time to go.”</p><p> </p><p>THE END</p>
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